Where Darkness Resides
by Mistress Elysia
Summary: Based on HotU. Jen Allomann, a half elven rogue-sorceress, is drawn into events beyond her control... R&R most welcome. Rated M for violence / adult situations. Ch. 35 now amended and re-uploaded
1. The Seer

_Hordes of the Underdark: Where Darkness Resides._

_I've never written 'serious' fanfic before (unless you count my Baldur's Gate mod!) – I normally either stick to my own stories or write parodies / silliness. I decided to write this because a) I thought it would be good practise b) it's a break from my own mammoth story that is getting far too big and confusing for its own good and c) Valen… (yeah, I admit it; I'm a bit of Valen fangirl…)._

_I started writing notes for this a couple of years ago, but never actually bothered to do anything with them - hence the reason this is so late in terms of the game's release date. It's really just a bit of self indulgence – the plot is basically the same, but I've decided to completely re-write dialogues and add in scenarios of my own invention (mainly because I'm too lazy to open up the dialogues in the game and re-write them here – the basic gist is the same, though). The main protagonist is a half elven rogue / sorcerer called Jenalil 'Jen' Allomann, and I've decided to start the story near the beginning of Chapter 2 of the game – mainly because Chapter 1 in the game is simply a dungeon crawl and therefore not that interesting to write (although I may go back to it eventually – we'll see how far I get with this!)._

_As for copyright – the plot and characters (apart from Jen) belong to Bioware and all that jazz._

Chapter One – The Seer

_Such an insignificant thing. Tiny; unassuming. Who would've thought it would turn out to be so important?_

Jen sighed to herself as she laid the small amulet upon the sheets of a borrowed bed, tracing the swirls that adorned it with a gentle finger. The relic was a small disc of gold; it looked as if it had once been part of something larger - a hilt of a sword, maybe. She knew the truth of it, however, and consequently she'd lost count the amount of times she'd try to be rid of it; each time, it had come back to her.

_To haunt her…_

Shaking her head, the half elf studied the room she had been given for this brief interlude. To the casual observer her general demeanour might have come across as merely curious, but her darting eyes and the imperceptible shaking of her hands betrayed the uncomfortable nervousness accompanied by fleeting periods of acute anxiety she was currently experiencing.

_She must be wrong. She has to be wrong…_

"Boss?"

Jen near jumped at the high-pitched, slightly rasping voice that intruded upon her introspection. She had forgotten that Deekin had accompanied her to her room; truth was, she could have done with this time to herself, but there was no subtle way to discourage the little kobold bard from following her and sitting himself upon one of the spider-adorned chairs in the corner of the rather grandiose room she had been granted; hints just slid off his scales like water, and Jen didn't have the heart to have him forcefully removed from her room.

"Don't call me boss, Deekin. I've asked you before."

Deekin nodded as he swung his clawed feet back and forth, an endearing, if slightly annoying, sight.

"Yes, boss. Deekin was just wondering: why is we sitting in this room?"

Jen sighed again, mentally cringing at the deference he always showered her with and shrugged her shoulders.

"I thought we needed a few minutes to gather our thoughts," she answered carefully; for some reason, she was unwilling to admit that she needed some time to herself, as if it was some kind of dire weakness in this most dangerous of places. She smiled weakly at the kobold. "I thought they were going to throw us out immediately after charging us with this godsforsaken quest; I suppose we should be grateful that they've granted us this time to sort our heads out."

Deekin cocked his head to one side and looked away from Jen for a moment, strumming a few soft chords upon his curiously shaped lyre, as if the action aided his concentration. After a moment's pause, he looked back to the half elf.

"'Suppose so. Deekin thoughts the big goatman was going to chuck Deekin and boss out for sure."

Despite herself, Jen couldn't help but grin at the little kobold's unerring ability to hit the nail right upon the head. Their arrival to the Underdark hadn't been particularly pleasant or successful; placed under a geas by a mad wizard to defeat a drow queen calling herself the Valsharess, only to be greeted by a drow priestess who claimed that she knew of Jen and that she was there as some kind of saviour of her visions. Upon seeing the drow collective in the audience chamber, Jen had thought them dead for sure – it was truly ironic, then, that the assembled drow had been almost accepting of them once their Seer – the priestess - had vouched for her; it had been the odd-looking man – the only non-drow in the room (and possibly the whole city, Jen mused) beside herself and her kobold bard companion - who had stood so protectively to the right of the Seer that had been the most negative and aggressive towards her. Although she had seen drow before, she had never seen his like in all her extensive travels; with his curled, goat-like horns upon his head, cruel, ice blue eyes and long, sinewy tail he both piqued her curiosity and frightened her in equal measure. Beside him, the drow assassin Nathyrra's cautiously cordial attitude towards her seemed almost obscenely welcoming, and the Seer… well…

Jen pursed her lips and, locking her hands behind her head, lay back upon the silken covers of the bed as she thought of the Priestess of Eilistraee: hauntingly beautiful and ageless in appearance, her eyes the only thing betraying the wisdom of many centuries. Wriggling a little, Jen mused on how the bed was surprisingly comfortable; for some reason, she had always imagined drow life to be one of hardship and torture, and so she had never considered such simple things as beds in connection with them before. The spider motif that dominated the room did not surprise her, however; even if the Seer did proclaim to follow Eilistraee, the room was located in what was first and foremost a temple of Lolth, the Spider Queen.

_Odd how things work out…_

Jen's private reflection was cut short by a short, sharp rap upon the door to her chamber. Deekin, startled, stopped his strumming and looked apprehensively to his half elven comrade. Shaking her head at him, Jen sat up, leant across to the bedside table where her sword, Enserric, lay in its scabbard and crisply bade the knocker enter.

She knew it was Valen before his features became apparent in the dim light of the room by his sheer size; no drow could ever hope to match his height. Glowering a little, the be-horned man regarded her with a stony, measured gaze that bordered upon insolence; a silent challenge if she had even seen one.

"The Seer wishes to know if you are rested enough."

Clutching Enserric, Jen stood up and matched his stare, refusing to be intimidated by him. In the corner of her eye, she saw Deekin stand up and clutch his lyre to himself defensively; she knew the gesture and felt a small flare of satisfaction that, despite his small stature compared with the warrior that stood between them, the little kobold bard wasn't afraid to stand by her if things turned ugly.

"I am," she replied eventually, keeping her tone as flat as possible as she buckled her sword to her hip and snatched up the Relic of the Reaper from the bedcovers.

"Then the Seer wishes to speak with you again."

With that, Valen turned tersely upon one heel and near marched out of the room without a backward glance.

o0o

Feeling decidedly apprehensive, Jen attempted to straighten the overlapping plates of the simple black leather armour she habitually wore and tucked a rather unruly lock of chestnut brown hair behind one sharp ear. She didn't know why she felt she had to present herself in such a manner; after all, according to the Seer, she was the Saviour - the defeater of the Valsharess or some such nonsense, but the calm authority that the Seer seemed to exude reminded Jen a little too sharply of the classroom and therefore of Drogan, her dwarven mentor, and so the desire to present herself in a good light to the drow priestess was more an ingrained response than anything else. Behind her, Deekin followed meekly, his claws clacking lightly upon the highly polished marble floor. Taking a deep breath and expelling it slowly, Jen opened the door that lead to the Seer's audience chamber and tried to ignore the score of dark elven eyes that followed her progress as she made her way to ornately decorated central dais where the Seer stood, a welcoming smile touching her lips.

Extending a hand, the Seer invited Jen to sit upon the dais with her and offered her a small cup which she filled with a sweet smelling red liquid.

"I do hope you were not roused from your rest too early; if so, I apologise," she tilted her head towards Jen in a gesture of regret. The half elf offered the beautiful drow a hesitant smile and a small, half-shrug, to which the drow smiled warmly.

"I wish I could allow you to relax to your heart's content, Jen, but as you are well aware, time is a simple pleasure that we simply do not have right now." The Seer's countenance grew grave as a shadow passed briefly across her ancient eyes. "The Valsharess moves swiftly against us; we must be prepared. As I said before, she has powerful alliances – alliances that we need to be broken," she gave Jen a significant look. "Alliances that _you_ need to break."

At this, Jen swallowed hard and nodded dumbly, her mouth suddenly dry. She knew she had agreed to this, but it didn't stop her being plagued with self doubt. Seeing her discomfiture, the Seer gestured to the forgotten cup in the half elf's hand and offered her a munificent smile. Unconsciously, Jen smiled back and took a sip of the fragrant liquid; for a short moment, she was back upon the surface enjoying the sun on a summer's day and not in the claustrophobic confines of the hostile Underdark. Surprised, she looked quizzically down at the cup and then at the Seer, whose smile simply widened for the briefest of moments before settling back to her previous benign countenance.

"You are the one of my visions, Jenalil… of that I am certain," she glanced briefly to one side, where the warrior Valen stood in the shadows. "I know not everyone believes in my visions..." the Seer raised a delicate ebon hand to forestall Valen as he made to step forward and interrupt her; snorting irritably, the horned man stepped back into the shadows and took up his customary spot once more, offering Jen a flat, hard stare "…but you must believe me when I say that I would not send anyone into the wilds of the Underdark without good cause," the Seer sighed as a look of resigned sorrow settled upon her fair features. "The Underdark is a dangerous place; if it were possible, I would send you back from whence you came… but it isn't; Halaster has seen to it that even had you not been the one of my visions, you would have to face the Valsharess anyway, and for that, I am sorry." Before Jen could comment, the drow priestess continued. "However, I am not proposing you go alone. Nathyrra has petitioned me personally to allow her to accompany you, if you should wish her help…" At the offer, Nathyrra stepped forward, seeming to coalesce out of the very shadows themselves and nodded towards Jen, a slight smile upon her obsidian lips "… and Valen has also pledged his sword-arm to you, should you accept it," Jen couldn't help but glance with a flicker of surprise towards where the surly warrior stood with his arms folded over his chest, a stoic look upon his face, his gaze fixed unblinkingly upon a point just above where the meeting was taking place.

"And Deekin, boss! Don't forget Deekin! Deekin is coming, too! Deekin must continue to write the story of brave boss and her adventures in Underdark!"

Jumping a little, Jen turned to regard her kobold companion, having forgotten that he was present during this meeting - and by the look on the Seer's face, so had she. The priestess quirked an eyebrow and gave Jen a quizzical look. Blushing slightly, Jen glanced up at Valen and Nathyrra as they exchanged a slightly horrified look before remembering themselves and forcing their faces back to their former, carefully contrived masks.

"Uh, Deekin… it'll be dangerous…" Jen started, unsure of what to say.

"Deekin will be safe; he is with boss!" Deekin interrupted. Jen winced slightly.

"Yeah, umm, okay… but the Underdark… are you sure you wouldn't be happier, well, here? I'm sure you'd be… a… great….help….." she trailed off as Deekin's face fell with abject disappointment.

"But… Boss… we does these things together… how can Deekin write saga of brave boss if Deekin is here?" Deekin almost whispered, a husky edge to his voice. Closing her eyes, Jen sighed and patted the kobold upon his shoulder. Truth was that Deekin had proved himself to her on more than one occasion, which, when all was said and done, was more than could be said of Nathyrra and Valen.

"Okay, Deekin… if that's what you want, you can come." Jen heard a snort of derisive astonishment from behind her; to her surprise, she felt her hackles rise a little in response to it. Deekin, however, had obviously not heard it.

"YAY! BOSS! Deekin and Boss, together again!" the kobold trilled ecstatically, strumming an upbeat chord upon his lyre. Wincing visibly now, Jen shrugged helplessly towards the assembled audience; the drow that had before been pretending not to listen to the exchange between the rogue and the priestess had all turned towards the kobold's enthusiastic reaction and watched with raised eyebrows and perplexed looks, making Jen squirm uncomfortably inside.

"Yeah, okay, come on, Deekin… that's, err, enough now…" she mumbled, going an impressive shade of deep crimson as the kobold beamed happily at her. "Everyone is watching…"

"Then it is settled," the Seer interjected smoothly. "You will not be fulfilling your destiny alone," she smiled again, this time her attention fixed upon Deekin: "Not that I thought you would be…"

Standing up, the Seer smoothed the creases out of her silken dress and reached for a small box that stood upon a filigreed side table. Not sure if the meeting had come to an end or not, Jen followed the Seer's lead and stood up awkwardly, running a hand apprehensively through her hair. Just as she was about to lower it again, the Seer caught it tenderly and studied the ring that was glowing gently in the half-light of the audience chamber.

"You wear this so you can see?" she asked softly. Before Jen could answer with anything more than a nod, the Seer held the small box up and offered it to her. "External light will be your enemy down here, Jen; it makes you a target. You need to see as we, the drow, do." Opening the box, the Seer drew out a delicately wrought silver circlet with a small, highly polished moonstone set within it; after holding it up for Jen to inspect it, she presented to her.

"If you would allow me…" the Seer gestured for Jen to be seated once more. Slightly nervously, Jen complied. The Seer then carefully fitted the circlet so that the moonstone sat snugly upon her forehead: gasping, Jen surveyed the room.

No longer was it filled with murky shadow illuminated solely by bursts of lilac and green faerie fire; it was as if the entire room had been bathed in the bright moonlight of Midsummer's Eve. Colours that were once muted and distorted now became brighter and more apparent, and everything was suffused with an almost eerie silvery sheen. Turning once again to the Seer, Jen blinked furiously, unsure of how to thank the priestess for such a princely gift. As if able to read her mind, the Seer inclined her head towards the rogue and caught Jen's cheeks between her cool, ebon hands

"This is the least I can offer you, Saviour. Take it with my thanks; with the thanks of all my people. May Eilistraee smile upon you."

o0o

After Jen had accepted her gift, the Seer left the audience chamber with a couple of her drow entourage in tow. The remaining drow slowly turned their attention back to their own occupations, and so it was that the only remaining people left near the dais were Jen, Deekin, Nathyrra and Valen.

Deekin was the first to break the silence.

"Deekin thinks the drow lady wants us to work, now," he said thoughtfully, turning towards the doors that lead to the drow city of Lith My'athar. "We shoulds be going, Deekin thinks."

"On your own?" Nathyrra interjected, speaking up for the first time since Jen had entered the audience chamber. "My offer still stands. I am more than willing to accompany you."

Jen smiled gratefully at the drow and nodded appreciatively at her offer.

"In truth, I'm grateful. I wouldn't want to have to muddle my way through this on my own" Jen replied.

After a moment's hesitation, Nathyrra smiled back.

"I am knowledgeable enough with regards to the local environs; I can help you locate the allies of the Valsharess easily enough…"

"And I can help you defeat them," Valen interrupted and stepped forward to stand beside Nathyrra, dwarfing the drowess.

Surprised, Jen nodded slowly. Although the Seer had said he was willing to help, the half elf hadn't quite believed her. Seeing her doubt, Valen quirked one crimson brow at her in obvious annoyance.

"So… you're willing to help, too?" Jen said carefully.

"The Seer wouldn't have extended my offer if I wasn't willing to help," Valen replied, his tone clipped.

"But you don't believe in the Seer's visions. Why offer to help in the first place?" As soon as the question left her lips, Jen regretted asking it; the last thing she needed to do was make an enemy of the one man who looked like he could level an entire battlefield on his own.

Valen folded his arms once again over his chest and glowered down at Jen, his ice blue eyes colder than ever.

"If you do not wish my help, just say so. There are other things I can be doing."

"No, no! I mean, yes. I… I mean, yes, I do want your help, and no, you don't have to do other things. Unless you want to, of course," Jen stammered, trying to recover herself, bullying herself not to be cowed by him. From the corner of her eye she saw Nathyrra raise her eyebrows in a slightly incredulous way, but decided to ignore her.

After giving her an appraising look, Valen reached back and picked up his weapon of choice: a massive tangle of heavy spiked balls made of a cold, black bone fixed by chains to an ornately crafted handle. Goggling slightly, Jen watched as he wound the heavy flail's chains around its own handle and then slid it home into a complicated leather harness with practised ease that allowed him to keep his hands free. "Well? Where to?"

Nathyrra broke in, giving Jen an odd look

"I suggest we talk with Imloth; he knows a good deal about the various enemies we'll be facing."

Valen snorted. "Beholders, Illithid, undead… we already know how to fight these foes, Nathyrra."

Nathyrra frowned. "That may be the case, but I doubt Jen does. She needs advice, and I know I am not best person to give it."

Valen's countenance hardened again.

"And neither am I, I suppose? You forget; all the time you've been skulking in the shadows, I've been leading your troops and fighting skirmishes in your name for a long time now."

"I am aware of that, Valen," Nathyrra snapped back. "But Imloth is the Master at Arms in Lith My'athar – not only is he trained in fighting these foes, he knows how to train others to fight them!"

Glancing nervously from the warrior to the assassin, Jen was grateful when Deekin seemingly innocently broke the tension.

"Deekin knows of Mindflayers, also known as Illithid. They like to eat brains. Deekin recommends a helmet," the kobold commented, his reptilian face the perfect picture of earnest sincerity.

Unable to stop herself at the absurdity of the statement with regards to the seriousness of the rest of the conversation, Jen couldn't help but stifle a giggle behind one hand. Both Nathyrra and Valen rounded upon her with narrowed eyes.

"Well, Deekin has a point…" she said a little sheepishly, waiting to be chastised. At that, Nathyrra rolled her crimson eyes and grinned and much to Jen's surprise, a fleeting ghost of a smile touched Valen's lips for a mere second.

"Whatever we do next, we should get going," he commented, the usual gruff edge to his voice firmly back in place. "Time is not on our side."

Despite their differences, Jen couldn't have agreed more with him.


	2. The City of Lith My'athar

Chapter Two – The City of Lith My'athar

Leaving the relative safe confines of the temple, Jen hadn't known what to expect from the drow city; one thing for certain was she hadn't expected it to be so beautiful. Despite being half elven, she had had little to do with the elven way of life; her birthmother had died in bringing her into the world and so she had been brought up by her human father (joined later by her human stepmother) in a very much human dominated society. It was this largely untapped elven side, however, that appreciated the delicate filigreed buildings that towered above her and the exquisitely carven statues that were dotted around the square in front of the temple. Both were largely constructed out of a shining black marble veined with glittering lilac crystals, garlanded with almost floral-like bursts of purple, blue and red faerie fire and spoke of a deeply ingrained appreciation of aesthetics and need to create beauty – although Jen's own appreciation was tinged with a slight, jarring feeling of horror when she focused upon the smaller details adorning the gracefully constructed buildings: the spires that ended in cruel spikes, soft curves intermingled with jagged barbed designs and the abundant proliferation of the spider motif, either depicting fierce arachnids themselves or huge replica cobwebs that spanned windows and balconies. Shuddering slightly at this conflict between beauty and cruelty, Jen forced herself to turn her attention away from the spiders; be they real or simply renditions, she had always been a little afraid of the eight legged creatures after she and her half-brother Renlan had been attacked by a giant specimen in the forest local to their village. Renlan had been bitten and consequently had been ill for some time after; in the end, the local druid had been the only one who could neutralise the poison that the massive arachnid had pumped into his system. Consequently, she had had nightmares for months afterwards, and whilst she was confident that she had mastered her fear enough to tackle the creatures by herself if there was no other option, she would rather avoid them if she could.

Unfortunately, it looked like that wasn't going to be entirely possible here.

A slight breeze danced pleasantly over her, lifting the strands of hair that framed her face, having escaped from the braid she habitually wore; another surprise, since she had thought the Underdark would simply have been an extension of Undermountain, claustrophobic and still. As it was, Lith My'athar buzzed with life: merchants hawked their wares from market stalls to the right of them, their customers strolling from booth to booth, sampling a wide range of goods ranging from the decidedly exotic to the everyday mundane; hammers rung upon anvils located in a huge forge just beyond the market stalls; battalions of dark elven soldiers sparred together in small groups, honing their already impressive skills; and from the faint smell of river mud and fish that was carried upon the breeze, Jen guessed that there must be some kind of water course nearby. Looking up, Jen found that she could not see the ceiling of the massive cave the city was located in; instead, she could see hundreds of tiny points of faint light that eerily resembled a twinkling star-scape. This did not alleviate the foreboding feeling of being buried deep within the earth, however; the fact that this place could live and thrive hundreds of feet beneath her world without the inhabitants of the surface ever knowing about it in any way other than through dark rumour and old wives tales disturbed her more than would be willing to openly admit. Jen shivered a little and drew her arms around herself; even with the relative familiarity of people going about their everyday business, this place, with its pervading sense of tension and subtle undercurrent of malice that seemed woven into the very fabric of the rock the city was constructed on, was more alien to her than she could ever have imagined.

Noticing her shiver, Valen glanced down at the uneasy half elf for a split second before looking up again, his face carefully impassive. The look did not go unnoticed, however, and after waiting a few moments to see whether the tall warrior was going to say a few words of comfort, Nathyrra shook her head imperceptibly, rolling her eyes a little as she did in silent chastisement of Valen's rather callous demeanour.

"This place can be a little unsettling for surfacers at first," she commented in a low voice, a reassuring smile upon her lips. "If you have any questions, I'd be more than happy to answer them."

Jen nodded unconsciously, chewing a little upon her bottom lip. She knew what she wanted to ask, but didn't want anyone to know of her weaknesses quite yet.

"Uh, how long has the city been here?" she asked eventually, trying to infuse her voice with an air of confidence she did not particularly feel.

Recognising her need for inconsequential small talk, Nathyrra inclined her head towards Jen, indicating she was willing to discuss such things with her; in complete contrast, a flash of impatient irritation flickered momentarily across Valen's face, his jaw tightening as he clamped down upon the retort that was obviously attempting to fight its way out of him.

"The city has been here for many centuries," Nathyrra began, gesturing around herself "although more as an outpost than an actual city. It is the haven of House Maeviir, once a powerful House in their own right, but now the last refuge for a mere handful of survivors and rebels. Once upon a time, other, lesser drow Houses also inhabited the walls of the city, but they have either been destroyed by, or joined with, the Valsharess." Nathyrra shook her head sadly. "We truly are the last stand against her. If we fall, all is lost; no one will be able to halt her rise to ultimate power."

"Hence the importance of having allies we can trust implicitly not to fail or betray us," Valen broke in, his intense cerulean eyes boring accusingly into Jen.

At that, Jen felt a small flame of furious irritation of her own ignite deep with in her at the warrior's continued negativity and flagrant, mocking mistrust of her.

"I never asked for this, you know," she snapped back, her voice suddenly tight with suppressed anger. "I didn't just stroll down here and demand to be charged with this task. Maybe you'd like to take me to get another wizard and have yet another geas placed upon me, just to make sure there is absolutely no way I can betray you? Or maybe you'd like me to pledge some kind of oath in front of a deity of your choice? Or how about a potion of truth - maybe even a nice Discern Lies spell as well, just for good measure - so you can grill me to your heart's content with the knowledge that I can't actually lie to you? Would that suffice, Valen? Or do you want more?" she glared back at the horned man, her own soft hazel-green eyes now taking on the coldly glittering cast of well-cut emeralds.

For a second, Valen's eyes narrowed and one gauntleted hand hovered over the handle of his massive flail; the colour drained a little from Jen's face as she wondered in slight panic if he had taken her little frustrated outburst as a direct challenge. Even though she had some pretty devastating spells at her disposal and knew exactly where to stick a dagger into a man to bring him down with one hit, her strength lay in the element of surprise or, failing that, in distance; in a straight fight, Valen would beat her into mulch without so much as breaking a sweat. Fortunately, the moment passed as the warrior dropped his hand back down to his side and gave her a slightly appraising look, almost as if she had passed some kind of test. Folding his arms over his chest in a gesture that Jen was now beginning to recognise as one of intimidation as much as one of defence, Valen glowered down at her, the tip of his sinewy tail flicking from side to side. From out of the corner of her eye, Jen saw Nathyrra's hand drop from the hilt of her rapier; the gesture did not comfort her however, for as friendly as the drow assassin was towards her, the rogue did not think she would raise a blade against Valen in her defence if he did decide to take matters into his own hands.

"There will be no need for that, Jenalil Allomann," Valen replied eventually, his voice deep and slightly threatening. "I will be watching you closely; that is enough for me. Just know that if you make one false move," he held up his index finger to emphasise his point, "I will not hesitate in cutting you down. I will not have these people harmed."

"I can appreciate that," Jen answered curtly, hoping that her voice sounded cool and collected rather than harried and nervous, "I have no intention of betraying anyone."

"There is no need to qualify yourself in front of us, Jen," interjected Nathyrra, throwing Valen a decidedly withering look. "That the Seer believes in you is enough for me." She smiled again, softening her angular elven features once more; Valen just snorted derisively.

"Imloth," he near growled as he strode away, leaving the two females upon the temple steps.

"Why is goatman so nasty, boss?" Deekin asked quietly once the rest of the little party had left the steps to follow Valen. The little kobold had watched the entire exchange with huge eyes, clutching his lyre to his thin, scaly chest defensively. "Deekin knows boss wouldn't betray the drow lady…"

Jen smiled ruefully at her stalwart companion and patted him lightly upon the shoulder.

"I know you do, Deek, and I'm grateful for that… we'll just ride it out for now, huh? He'll either come around or decide he can't stand to be with us; whatever the case, it'll sort itself out in the end. These things inevitably do."

Deekin looked up, his expression decidedly sceptical. Jen knew exactly how he felt.

o0o

Following Valen's purposeful lead, Jen found it quite hard to take in everything around her, but even from her rapid trip across the city she could see that there were clearly two factions of drow at work there. First of all, there were the remaining members of House Maeviir, obvious in their sneering, disdainful and above all suspicious looks towards her; then there were the followers of Eilistraee, their looks less disdainful, but no less suspicious. Feeling rather conspicuous as yet another pair of dark elven eyes turned to watch her passage, Jen wished that she wore a cloak so she could draw the hood up and become just another anonymous figure going about their daily business. _Not that that would work in this situation_ she thought ruefully, looking ahead of her to the almost predatory form of Valen as he stalked ahead of them, playing the alpha male for all it was worth. Ironically, Nathyrra was nowhere to be seen; she was too practised in skulking in the shadows for Jen, with her newly enhanced ability to see in the dark, to spot her if she didn't want to be seen quite yet.

It took them a good half an hour to reach their destination; on Jen's part, it was a good half an hour of uncomfortable silences and feeling rather like a carnival sideshow exhibit. About halfway through their journey, after realising that Valen was indeed going to ignore her completely, Nathyrra had relinquished the shadows and come to walk beside Jen, offering her titbits of information about the buildings they passed: their history, who had once owned them, the crimes committed in them. After the fourth story of grisly murder on the same street, the half elf had become to feel rather sickened by it all, and felt a deep yearning to be out of this dark place and back upon the surface once again. Sure, such crimes were committed there too, but they weren't spoken of so candidly, as if they were rather cleverly pulled off japes rather than scenes of twisted murder, rape and torture. It didn't help that all the way through it, Valen kept up a punishing pace, obviously determined to show Jen that although he had agreed to help her, he was firmly in charge.

They eventually came to a section of the city that rang with the sound of steel against steel and the shouts of commanding officers drilling their troops in a language Jen didn't understand. Although close up it seemed a lot of people, she could see that their forces were pitifully few; a couple of battalions, no more. Upon seeing their arrival, the nearest Sergeant at Arms turned and offered Valen a sharp salute; Valen then strode over to join him, and after exchanging a few words with the drow, beckoned the rest of them over.

"Imloth is with Naldrin's squad, to the east of the encampment," he informed them. "Tatholaer has sent a runner ahead of us to notify him of our arrival." The drow Sergeant standing next to him nodded. Unsure of what to do considering she had not been properly introduced, Jen smiled at Tatholaer.

He did not return the gesture.

Allowing her smile to slide off her face, Jen crossed her arms over her chest, looked at the floor and wondered if anyone in this godsforsaken place apart from Nathyrra was going to respond to her in any way other than with barely veiled contempt.

It only took Imloth a short while to arrive. As Master at Arms, Imloth bore the rank of Training Commander and consequently, Jen was expecting to be treated in much the same vein as Valen. It therefore came as a great surprise when, after saluting to the much larger warrior, he also saluted her.

"Ussta Jallil Jenalil. The Seer said you might stop by for intelligence regarding the allies of the Valsharess. Is this the case?" he asked in heavily accented Common.

Completely taken aback, Jen just nodded dumbly at first. At that, Valen rolled his eyes and Nathyrra jabbed her surreptitiously in the ribs, encouraging her to speak up.

"Uh, yes, yes, that is the case, Commander. I, err, need to know about tactics; how to fight them and the like," Jen near stammered, unused not only to the subject matter, but also the deference one of such importance as Imloth was showing her.

A fleeting look of confusion crossed Imloth's onyx face before he answered her. "Of course, Jabbress. What would you like to know?"

"I've been told that the Valsharess has made allies of the beholders and the illithid and that a cult of necromancers are raising undead for her. Can you…add anything to this?"

Jen couldn't help but notice that Imloth glanced incredulously towards Valen before answering her.

"Not a great deal… We have spies posted around, but there is little to tell, to be honest. The Valsharess is hardly being subtle about things; it is simply a case of 'join or die'."

"Where are these allies located?"

"Mainly to the east of Lith My'athar; they have outposts in the Zhasen - the Wilds. Each outpost is located within a few days trek of each other, as the Imp flies. However, you'll need to give yourself a few days grace to take marauding bands of Umber Hulks, Koa-toas and Grimlocks into consideration," Imloth offered Jen a rather ironic smile that had nothing to do with amusement. "Although, saying that, not many of the local inhabitants have been seen around recently. It seems the Valsharess has been good for something after all. But, there again, she has also done an admirable job of replacing the local inhabitants with Duergar raiding parties – these are usually led by a drow Commander and up to four Lieutenants," his countenance took on its former, rather grim cast, "if I'm honest, I'd much rather face the Koa-toa."

Jen nodded thoughtfully. "I see. So we're going to need to take a good tendays worth of supplies with us, just to make sure we reach each outpost sufficiently prepared."

"At least, I would say."

"Any other information you can give me? Numbers, maybe?"

Imloth stroked his chin with one long, obsidian finger and looked towards Valen. "I don't know… I would say that the Illithid Conclave is, what, about fifty strong, give or take a few?"

"At least," replied the warrior tersely. "You're looking at hundreds if you include their thralls."

Imloth nodded in agreement. "As for the Beholders; who knows. A normal Hive can support anything from thirty to a hundred Eye Tyrants at a time. It depends how strong their Hive Mother is. I would hope that it is one of the smaller Hives, though; if not, then the Valsharess has grown stronger than we had imagined."

Valen snorted sardonically. "The fact that she has enslaved an Archdevil to her service should speak of her strength, Imloth."

Imloth grinned. "Watch it, Sut'rinos Shadowbreath. You almost sound like you admire her."

At that remark, Jen held her breath; she had barely known Valen for an hour, and yet she knew that such a comment could stoke his irascible temper. Thankfully, it seemed that Valen held Imloth in much higher regard than he did her, and rather than beat him to a pulp, a small but decidedly evil grin touched his lips.

"In that case, I do so hope I get to admire her up close, especially with Devils' Bane close to hand," he quipped, patting the hilt of his flail to accentuate his point.

"Ahhh, I would so love to see the consummation of that meeting, abbil…" smirked Imloth with obvious callous mirth.

At this exchange, Nathyrra rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Jalukul…" she whispered to Jen, tutting under her breath, and although she didn't know the direct translation of the word, she understood exactly what she meant by her intonation alone: _Men…_

"What of the undead, Imloth?" Nathyrra broke in, trying to steer the conversation back.

Imloth shrugged. "Of that, we haven't been so successful in our endeavours. There seems to be some kind of… village near the source of the undead, but in fear of revealing our hand, we haven't been able to ask too many questions. We're mainly guessing that a cult of necromancers is responsible for it all, but we really don't have any solid evidence that that actually is the case," he gave Jen a rueful look. "There, I really have to apologise and say you're on your own."

Swallowing hard, Jen pinched the bridge of her nose between two gloved fingers and closed her eyes.

_A good fifty Illithid, plus hundreds of thralls, a Hive full of nightmarish aberrations that might number anything up to a hundred strong AND a whole enclave of might-be-necromancers with a possibly unending supply of bodies to resurrect… and they're expecting you to do this with no knowledge of the terrain, little to no experience of fighting half the foes mentioned and all with the sole help of one drow assassin, one bad tempered fighter and one kobold bard… fantastic. They're all insane. There is no way we can do this on our own – visions or not, it's madness. Pure lunacy. _

"Okay… so we have a rough idea of what we might be facing," said Jen eventually. "What about resources at our disposal? Weapons, healing… troops?"

At the mention of troops, it was Imloth's turn to close his eyes in rueful resignation. "Rizolvir – the local Weapons Smith – can help you on that front. There are a few merchants around hawking magical goods for S'pdonen – spellcasters, that is – for being a completely unscrupulous bastard, Obok Faern Gulhyrs sells the best equipment this side of the River," he took a deep breath and carried on. "Healing isn't as simple; we face major casualties every day, and so need as much of our healing capacity within the walls of the city as possible. Potions, wands, healing packs and scrolls have been made available for you to purchase, and if you come back to the city injured, just speak to any of the Seer's priestesses – they will probably heal you for free," he sighed ruefully. "I know it sounds callous to make you pay for your equipment, considering all you are doing for us, but it isn't profiteering; we simply need a way to cover base expenses, mainly spell components. As a spell caster yourself, you must be aware that they aren't always the cheapest of things to obtain."

At that, Jen could do nothing else but nod. "And, dare I ask, what about troops? Or are we to do this mammoth task alone?"

Imloth glanced once again to Valen and visibly winced, as if Jen's question has touched a nerve. "As much as I would love to be able to offer you a battalion, Jenalil, I simply cannot. You have eyes; you can see how few we are. I need as many troops as I can muster here, in defence of Lith My'athar. If this outpost fails, then all is lost."

"So all of this is up to me, Nathyrra, Valen and Deekin. Four against hundreds," Jen said, her tone flat.

"Not quite. I said I couldn't spare a battalion; I can, however, spare an elite vzahaz – a small troop of well trained soldiers."

Valen's scarlet eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Has the Seer sanctioned this?" he asked, his tone angry as he stepped forward threateningly, his tail beginning to twitch.

"Not explicitly, no," replied the drow Commander defensively. "But she has left training duties to me…"

"… And directing the troops to me! You know this, Imloth – why seek to directly undermine me?" There was no mistaking the malevolent note to Valen's voice now.

"Not undermine, Sut'rinos – to help! As powerful as you are, can you truly think of facing a whole Hive of Eye Tyrants on your own? I know I can't! And that is what we are essentially asking Jen to do!" he shook his head. "It's… it's not fair, Valen. This is no way intended as an insult to you – it's just good sense."

Hearing Imloth's justification, Jen felt a rush of gratitude towards the drow; Valen stepped back away from him, the look upon his face both hostile and mollified. "I… suppose I can see your point," he answered eventually as he folded his arms over his chest once more. "But that does not mean I agree with you making such decisions without consulting me first."

"When you're travelling with Jen, I'll have to make decisions like this all the time. You won't be here," stated Imloth matter-of-factly.

Both Jen and Nathyrra flinched slightly at this rather uncomfortable home truth and glanced at Valen, readying themselves for a violent outburst. The warrior didn't comply, however; instead his face simply froze, his previous good rapport with the drow Commander now completely evaporated away, like morning dew in hot noonday sun.

"Who are you sending to help us?" Nathyrra asked eventually, hoping to diffuse the oppressive atmosphere that had settled upon them.

Imloth's eyes flickered towards Valen for a fleeting moment before refocusing again upon the drow and half elven females.

"Come with me, " he answered. "It would be simpler if you just met them."


	3. Beggars Are Rarely Also Choosers

Chapter Three – Beggars Are Rarely Also Choosers.

At his offer, Jen followed Imloth wordlessly. She felt surprisingly grateful towards him; as far as she was concerned, he was really sticking his neck out for her, no matter what the others thought. Fair enough; in supplying her with allies, he was increasing her chance of breaking the alliances the Valsharess had formed and therefore ultimately serving the Seer and Lith My'athar, but these little details didn't bother her one bit – more allies on her side meant there was a greater chance that she and Deekin might actually survive this madness, which was, considering the way she had been drafted into this war, her main goal.

Picking their way through the ordered chaos of sparring dark elves, Jen wondered exactly who had been assigned to her cause, and whether they were going to be as happy about it as Valen seemed to be. The thought made her stomach flip unhappily; the last thing she needed was a whole bunch of surly, petulant, emasculated males to resent her – it was bad enough having one. Still, Imloth had reassured her that they were field veterans - survivors of past engagements whose comrades-in-arms had been killed and were therefore technically without troops of their own and in need of a new assignment. The fact that they had survived what were undoubtedly bloody battles was both a comfort and a worry for Jen; on one hand, it meant that they knew how to take care of themselves, but on the other, it meant that they had probably lived by leaving dying comrades on the battlefield – something Jen knew was necessary, but it didn't mean that she had to like it. Sighing inwardly, she supposed this was the way of war and something soldiers were used to… and she wasn't a soldier by any stretch of the imagination.

Just before the small group emerged from the tangle of militia honing their skills, Nathyrra touched Jen lightly upon her arm and leaned in close so she could whisper in her ear.

"Do not show any weakness. You are being given drow soldiers; they respect strength. And if you do not have their respect, you have nothing." She gave Jen a significant look.

"Right. Hard-hearted bitch it is, then," Jen quipped, trying to inject an element of levity into the situation.

"I'm not joking, Jen," Nathyrra replied, a serious look upon her face. "Whoever they are – followers of Eilistraee or Maeviir rebels – they are still drow, and we are a proud race that responds to strong leaders." She gestured surreptitiously with her eyes towards Valen. "You wouldn't believe the hard time some of the Maeviir rebels gave him at first." Seeing Jen's eyebrows raise incredulously, Nathyrra nodded. "Yes – Valen had to earn the right to command them in battle as well," she then smiled reassuringly, aware that her words might not be the most comforting ones to be given at this time. "Luckily, you only have to win over a handful of soldiers, and if they give you too hard a time, I will be there to snap at their heels in your name." She looked up. "It seems that Imloth and Valen have stopped. We are here."

After briefly touching the drow female's arm in thanks, Jen felt the swooping, sinking feeling returning at Nathyrra's last comment. She then nodded to Imloth's beckon; before she left, she ducked her head and whispered to Deekin, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet through the recent exchanges - although she could easily guess the reasons for this. If it had been up to her, she would rather liked to have kept quiet, too.

"Stay here, Deek, with Nathyrra. Don't get involved if things go a bit wrong – not that I think they will," she added quickly, not wanting to worry the little kobold unnecessarily. "I'm sure everything will be okay."

Deekin looked up at her, his trusting reptilian eyes almost pleading in their desire to believe her.

"Don't worry, boss; Deekin will stay here. Deekin stay with Nathyrra." He offered her a wide, toothy smile that was meant, Jen knew, to reassure.

She had to admit to herself that she was grateful for it.

o0o

Leaving Nathyrra, Jen made her way towards Imloth and Valen; the former inclining his head towards her upon her approach, whilst the latter scowled slightly and once again indulged in his habit for arm-crossing. Whether this was for her benefit or for the small group of drow males located behind them that were lounging nonchalantly against some rocks that marked the border of the training grounds, each one weighing her up in his own mind as she approached, she did not know; nevertheless, she strived to make herself appear as relaxed and aloof as possible.

_No females. Interesting. I wonder why that is…_

From behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath and sensed Nathyrra quickly close the distance between them. Jen didn't dare glance behind her to see what had made the drow female hurry towards her in case the males in front of her saw it as seeking solace from another female, and so instead just stopped silently in front of Imloth, awaiting an introduction.

Nathyrra was not nearly so restrained.

"Imloth!" she hissed, her fury plain. "Ele ph' udos ghil? Zhaunyl dos xun naut talinth nindel udos zhal'la malar reztorm suul nindolen... glennen?"

_I really need to learn some drow, _Jen thought ruefully to herself. _It'd make this so much easier…_

Imloth's expression was one of stone.

"Because I know they are the best, Nathyrra. They may not be the strict followers of Eilistraee you would wish them to be, but they have sworn their allegiance to me." He inclined his head to Jen. "And to you."

Jen took a moment to study the small group in front of her before commenting. Nathyrra, on the other hand, hissed under her breath.

The group numbered five in total; she guessed that one was a mage by his robed attire, the others fighters of some kind since they all had swords of varying sizes strapped to hip and - in the case of the one that carried a greatsword – back. They all wore their delicately boned faces as impassive masks - something the half elf was rather getting used to - and said nothing to her during her short scrutiny of them.

Rather than beat around the proverbial bush, Jen decided to get straight to business.

"Who are they, then, and why does Nathyrra seem less than pleased to see them?"

Imloth seemed a little taken aback at the directness of her question; in contrast, the slight smile that touched the corners of Valen's lips indicated that he appreciated it – at last, it seemed she had done something right in the dour fighter's eyes. Rather than allow Imloth to answer the question, Nathyrra interrupted.

"They are rebels – and suspected devotees of The Masked Lord!" she near barked.

"And that's bad how?" Jen's brow wrinkled a little in confusion.

"Vhaeraun is just as bad as Lolth!" exclaimed the drow assassin, her usual calm demeanour lost. "The Masked Lord is the drow god of thieves and trickery, Jen. He might oppose The Spider Queen, but that does not mean we want his followers to be the ones guarding our backs." She gave Jen a significant look. "It makes you wonder in what exact circumstances the rest of their units died."

At that, one of the drow males kicked himself casually off the rock he was leaning against and sauntered insolently over to join in the conversation, a look of faint amusement upon his face.

"Ussta Jallil, you do us a disservice. We pledged our allegiances, just as everyone has here; we have no wish to see the Valsharess succeed." He spoke in the same, heavily accented Common as Imloth, but his voice was richer and more fluid somehow. Despite herself, Jen couldn't help but notice that he was also incredibly handsome in a cold, almost dangerous way. Quite why she had noticed this, though, Jen couldn't say. He turned to the half elf and inclined his head towards her, fixing her with curiously jade green eyes. "We also pledge our allegiances to you, Jallil d' Ssussun. I am Xen'shai Aleanath, once a Deathsinger to Matron Mother Chesriina of House Aleanath, now a Houseless rogue." He smiled, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes. "Those who follow the Dark Maiden of Stars label any male who refuses to join in their worship as a devotee of the Masked Lord. Especially those converts with the most to hide… eh, Nathyrra?"

At that, Nathyrra balled her fists as if fighting the urge to draw her rapier and tossed her head back in a blatant gesture of assumed superiority. "I know of your exploits, Xen'shai," she spat back, obviously incensed. "You defied your Matron from within and have consorted with known clerics of Masked Lord." She gestured towards the other four males. "You count Tsabandiir Hla'aneld as one of your number and everyone knows whom he draws his spells from!"

Rather than being intimidated, the Deathsinger simply smiled again, looking faintly amused.

"And what of it? My Matron joined the Valsharess – I had no desire whatsoever to be involved in such an alliance. So I simply decided to take matters into my own hands to ensure things turned out the way I wanted them to. As for Tsabandiir; he is the nearest thing to a cleric that is allowed out of Lith My'athar – you should be grateful. You know the saying: L' ogglinn d'lil ogglinn zhah ussta abbil – the enemy of my enemy is my friend?" he quirked an eyebrow. "I am sure you have. This is one of those situations, d'anthe jallil."

"And I am sure you have heard of another saying, Elghinnsunduiri: Er'griff natha wael gultahen ukt rath xuileb erg'les ulu natha velve!"

In response, Xen'shai laughed. "Ahhh, but you will not be offering your back willingly to us, will you, Jallil?" He turned to Jen and winked roguishly. "And why would I wish to harm such a pretty back anyway?" He then gestured towards Valen, leaving Jen to fight back a blush that was threatening to crawl up her neck and lay siege to her face. "Especially one that has the Errdegah-chath at her beck and call. We are not stupid; we wish to see the Valsharess stopped as much as you do. I give you my word – even though we are not followers of your Dark Lady of the Stars, we will fight by your side as comrades in arms."

The four other drow nodded in agreement, their demeanour solemn.

Nathrrya's eyes narrowed, her stance now tense and guarded. Before she could voice any more reservations, Imloth spoke up.

"I would not offer you assistance that I do not trust myself, Jen. Most of these males have fought at my side in the past – if you had seen the fervour in which they dispatched our enemies, you would not be in any doubt of their sincerity with regards to defeating the Valsharess." He glanced towards Nathyrra, and for the first time Jen saw something approaching contempt within his calm, crimson eyes. "I have noticed that it is sometimes… hard for females that once held positions of power such as yourself, Nathyrra, to accept this." He refocused upon Jen. "It is up to you as to whether you accept the assistance that is being offered you, however – but, please, just remember: L'uss xuileb kestal vel'uss jorosen shlu'ta'naut mziln tlu l' uss vel'uss detholare.

At that, Xen'shai snorted in amusement, covering his smile with a gloved hand; Nathyrra, on the other hand, sighed angrily and Valen – who had been unusually quiet throughout the whole meeting – raised a single crimson brow quizzically. Jen, feeling a little confused and more than annoyed at the feeling that she had been excluded from some kind of private joke, just wished she understood what Imloth had said.

Determined not to show that she was irritated, Jen turned her attention back to the four drow who remained by the rocks. She hadn't forgotten that Nathyrra had implied that one of them might be a cleric of some kind… and equated to at least some kind of healing, which was something their little party sorely lacked. Studying the males, she had to admit that they did indeed look competent; each one seemed comfortable to be scrutinised and wore their various weapons with easy confidence, leaving no doubt in Jen's mind that they were not there for show and knew exactly how to use them.

Seeing her interest, Xen'shai leaned in behind her, keeping just enough distance to stop himself from being seen as impolite, but close enough to make the half elf feel slightly uncomfortable as his hair tickled the back of her arms, making her shiver.

"An impressive sight, aren't they?" he murmured softly.

Jen glanced nervously towards him and shrugged her shoulders slightly in an evasive, non-committed way.

"They're – we're – willing to fight by your side, Jabbress. Imloth has explained your need. You have had far too much responsibility piled up upon your shoulders," to emphasise his point, the drow laid a light hand upon her shoulder, the corner of his lips lifting in a small, secret smile as he felt Jen tense up. "We can… ease the burden of some of that responsibility."

"I… appreciate that," Jen replied quietly, unsure of what else to say. To her relief, she then felt a larger, much more uncompromising figure stand beside her and pull the drow away from her wordlessly. For the first time since she had met him, Jen felt thankful for Valen's intervention as he took Xen'shai's place behind her.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

It took Valen so long to reply that the half elf physically turned her head to look up at him, wondering if he had actually heard her.

"Imloth has a point," he replied eventually. "Beggars can rarely also be choosers. And whether I trust them or not-" he gestured at the four drow he could see with his eyes "- isn't the issue; I trust Imloth. And I trust myself. They have sworn fealty to the Seer and therefore will not betray you, especially whilst I am around – I will see to that."

"He called you the... Errdegah-chath," Jen said quietly, trying to repeat the unfamiliar syllables as correctly as she could. "What does that mean?"

She felt Valen stiffen slightly behind her. "That is not important now. What is important is that you make a decision. All of this hesitation is making you look weak." He then stood back from her, as if to emphasise his point.

Taking one last look at the assembled drow, Jen turned back to Imloth and the others.

"Thank you, Imloth. I am grateful for the offer." She inclined her head to the drow commander with a smile and then focused her attention upon Xen'shai. "When can you be ready?"

Realising that Jen meant to accept the offer of help, Nathyrra's brows knitted together in furious disagreement, obviously deeply unhappy regarding the half elf's choice. In contrast, Xen'shai smiled and touched his brow lightly with the index and middle finger of his left hand in a lazy, rather louche salute.

"We can be ready whenever you need us, Jallil d' Ssussun. Just give us the word."

"Then give us an hour and meet us at the city gates," said Jen. She looked back to Nathyrra. "Or will we need more time?"

Nathyrra didn't bother to answer her.

"An hour should suffice," Valen replied gruffly after Nathyrra remained silent. "All we need to do is gather our supplies, and that shouldn't take long."


	4. Introductions

_Thanks to WitchWolf for the help and links regarding drow lore, especially Vhaeraun _

_Drow Translator: House Maerdyn (for some reason, it won't let me link directly!)  
_

Four – Introductions

It took the small group just over half an hour to gather the supplies they needed for their first foray out into the wild Underdark beyond Lith My'athar. During their spree, Valen had left them to collect his own backpack that he had left in his quarters, arranging to meet them alongside the drow once they had finished; this wouldn't have bothered Jen much if it hadn't been for the fact that Nathyrra was still largely ignoring her for her decision to allow Imloth's recruits to join them.

After visiting her third merchant in a row, Jen was grateful she had decided to spend what, at the time, had seemed to be a vast sum of gold on a Bag of Holding; without it, she doubted she could have carried what appeared to be some kind of mountain comprised of dry rations and other mundane items, let alone the rest of her equipment. She was also pleased – and more than a little relieved – to find that the city was not besieged by spiders; although the décor would suggest that the creatures were popular amongst the drow, Nathyrra rather stiffly explained that they were the sole preserve of the Spider Queen, and that since she held no sway in the city anymore, they were no longer welcome there.

Once the had finished with their third and final merchant, Jen looked around herself, trying to see if she could judge how long they had spent shopping; she simply had no idea how much time they had before they needed to meet up with the Valen and the drow recruits. Turning to Nathyrra, she steeled herself for another curt, uncomfortable exchange.

"How much time do you think we have? Before we have to meet up with Valen, that is," Jen asked, carefully ensuring her voice sounded light and non confrontational and deciding not to mention Xen'shai at all.

Nathyrra turned a cool crimson gaze upon the half elf. "Not long. Perhaps half an hour, if that."

"How do you tell?"

"You get used to the passage of time here. "She then pointed to the temple of Lolth that dominated the city from the square. "That and the main spire of the temple glows brightest during what would be moon-time upon the surface. The Seer enchanted it so that the Dark Maiden may be worshipped properly."

"Oh." Jen couldn't think of anything else to add.

Deekin peered up at the Spire, eager to help.

"So it's… halfway to brighttime, boss." A small look of confusion mingled with disappointment crossed his face. "Deekin doesn't know what that means."

Giving Deekin a slightly condescending look, Nathyrra turned away from them again.

Jen shared a significant look with the kobold and sighed. "Nathyrra… I know you're not happy with regards to the decision I have made…"

"You are right – I am not happy. But not for the reasons you might think," Nathyrra interrupted. "You do not know how things work in the Underdark. The politics of it all."

Jen shook her head. "You're right – I don't. But I do know that we have been sent out to deal with dangerous…" she paused and shrugged "… people, creatures, beings - see, I don't even really know what I'm facing half the time! – and so I figure that if someone who does know is offering to help, then grab it with both hands." The half elf gave the drow a weary, resigned smile.

With a resigned smile of her own, Nathyrra nodded. "I… guess I can appreciate that sentiment, Jen," she replied eventually. "I just wish that we had been offered rather more trustworthy people to guard our backs."

"What is it about Xen'shai you don't like?" Jen asked, curiously.

Nathyrra gave her a guarded look. "Xen'shai has been associated with… rebel activities for a long time, although whether he really is a devotee of the Masked Lord, he's not about to admit it publicly and it's never actually been publicly proven."

"In that case, maybe he just isn't what you think he is," Jen reasoned. "Maybe he is innocent." She thought back to the Deathsinger. "Well, as innocent as he can be."

"Xen'shai? Innocent?" Nathyrra raised a snowy eyebrow and chuckled. "Hardly. No – for a drow male without a House, he is far too confident. He has support elsewhere – be it from the Masked Lord's clergy or the Masked Lord himself, I am not sure… but he managed to band together those males we have now recruited rather too quickly for there not to be a reason."

Jen's brow furrowed. "So he's a lone male with the…" Jen hesitated – she was going to say 'charisma', but for some reason decided she did not want to use the word "… ability to draw others to him…why is that so bad? Why does he have to be affiliated with a House?"

Nathyrra shook her head. "Jen… if I had the time, I would explain all drow customs and politics to you, but, as you are aware, I don't. Basically, we live in a matriarchy, with the Matron Mothers in charge."

"Yeah, I got that. It still doesn't explain why opting out of that system is so bad."

"Because it just isn't the done thing, Jen," Nathyrra explained with an emphatic hand gesture to the heavens. "Males have no status in drow society without the support of the females. Whether you are male or female, to have no House is to have nothing; is to be nothing. And in such a hostile place as the Underdark, to give up any position you have – no matter what it is – is tantamount to suicide."

"Like kobold without master," Deekin commented. "Kobold need master to protect kobold clan, whether master is nice or not. Apart from Deekin, of course." He gave Jen a loyal look. "Deekin have boss."

Jen smiled at Deekin, noticing once again the slightly confused look that crossed Nathyrra's face each time the kobold made his undivided allegiance to the half elf plain. She then nodded slowly, her attention focused back on Nathyrra, a thoughtful look upon her face. "And so for a male to do that to himself…"

"… yes, I see you're beginning to understand now, "Nathyrra nodded. "It either takes a lot of guts, a lot of stupidity or a lot of confidence that there is something out there to help you to do what Xen'shai and his cronies did."

"What about the other males? Are they all in the service of this 'Masked Lord'?"

"No," smiled Nathyrra. "Most of them are open devotees of Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden. Some have come from one of the few drow enclaves that are found on the surface – this one located near Waterdeep; others the Seer has rescued and converted." She frowned. "What worries me is that usually the followers of the Masked Lord will have nothing to do with those of us that worship the Dark Maiden; in fact, they traditionally cause us nothing but grief. For them to join us willingly… it is disturbing, to say the least."

"Maybe it is just a case of 'needs must in times of strife'," said Jen in a reassuring manner. "The Valsharess is as much a threat to them as she is to you. It's times like these when people do put aside their differences and work together towards a common goal – they simply don't have any other choice at their disposal. Work together, or face the consequences."

At that, Nathyrra grinned widely, and Jen could see that she had been truly forgiven. "Ahhh, Jenalil… you are such an optimist; always trying to see the best in people." She laid a hand upon Jen's forearm and squeezed it gently in a spontaneous gesture of unity. "Once I would have seen it as a weakness, but now… now I can see that it is your strength."

At the gesture, Jen grinned gratefully.

"You know, I'm really glad to have you on my side, Nathyrra. If it was just Valen…" She allowed the sentence to trail off with a shrug.

The drow nodded ruefully. "He is being… difficult, I know, but in a way, I can understand it. Before you came here, he was our main line of defence; he's kept us safe, and he hasn't done this by being open and friendly to strangers." She smiled. "Don't worry – he will come round. It'll just take time." She then looked up towards the Spire and sighed. "And talking of time…"

"Time to go?" Jen asked.

"Indeed."

o0o

The small group of drow recruits were already waiting by the city gates by the time Jen, Nathyrra and Deekin arrived. Valen, on the other hand, was conspicuous by his absence and was nowhere to be seen.

Upon seeing the two females' approach, Xen'shai straightened himself up from the nonchalant slouch he had positioned himself in and offered them both a lazy salute and roguish smile. Nathyrra's stance grew guarded again, and her face became as an obsidian mask, cool and expressionless. Jen, however, had never been able to perfect such a cold demeanour, and so decided to stick with what she knew and smiled back.

"Jallil d' Ssussun!" the Deathsinger near purred as he approached, and by way of greeting, took Jen's hand and raised it to his lips briefly, causing the half elf to fight a blush once again. "Jabbress Jenalil, we have waited patiently for your arrival. For a little while, we worried you might not come…" he raised an eyebrow pointedly as he let go of Jen's hand and then turned his attention to Nathyrra. "And you, Nathyrra. I take it you have informed Jen of everything she needs to know?" His tone was one of pure innocence, but there was a flicker of challenge deep within his eyes.

Nathyrra answered his question with a withering glare.

"Siyo," she answered abruptly.

"Good… good… we should all be informed as to what we are getting ourselves into, don't you agree, Jenalil?"

Glancing at Nathyrra, Jen nodded dumbly.

"Speaking of being informed… where is the Errdegah-chath? We thought he would be with you?" Xen'shai asked, his face now a picture of concern.

"Uh, Valen's okay… he went to get things. Supplies and the like. For the journey. Well, that's what he said. He's going to meet us here…" Jen trailed off under the Deathsinger's scrutiny, painfully aware that she sounded like a stuttering fool.

"I see. We shall wait for him here?"

"That is what we agreed," snapped Nathyrra

Xen'shai turned his attention to the other female for a moment, his face carefully blank, before refocusing back on Jen. The gesture was pure insolence, and upon seeing the furious tic that flitted across Nathyrra's face, the half elf had no doubts in her mind that had he acted like this in front of a female in normal drow society, he would have been in a lot of trouble indeed.

"Maybe it is time for you to meet the others that will be fighting by your side?" he smiled, gesturing with one delicate ebon hand towards the other four drow that lounged by the gate and taking the half elf gently by the arm with the other.

Allowing herself to be propelled forward, Jen stole a last backwards glance towards Nathyrra, whose jaw had now tightened, a small furrow upon her brow. Seeing Jen's glance, she gave a small, curt shake of her head, indicating that Jen should not let the Deathsinger take the upper hand in the situation.

Deciding to take the assassin's mute advice, Jen shook Xen'shai's hand from her arm and squared her shoulders, preparing herself to meet the others; in response, the Deathsinger gave her a fleeting, slightly calculating look from the corner of his eye, giving Jen the impression that this was all just an amusing game to him.

Unfortunately, it was a game that Jen didn't currently know the rules for.

She wondered if she ever would.

o0o

Nathyrra looked on warily whilst Jen was introduced to the rest of the drow troop, barely noticing the tall figure of Valen approach her. Seeing the serious look upon her face, the horned warrior frowned and dropped his pack by his feet.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly.

"Xen'shai is introducing Jen to his cronies," replied Nathyrra, not taking her eyes off the exchange.

"How well is it going?"

"Not well." Nathyrra turned a grim face to him. "Xen'shai is totally dominating her."

Valen shrugged. "He'll do that if she lets him."

"I don't think she's used to dealing with people like Xen'shai and his brother, Valen," the drow chastised softly.

"Then it begs the question: why is she here?" The warrior's face was impassive, but there was a definite, tight edge to his voice.

Nathyrra rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Valen, she is not here to usurp you. She is here to help us."

"So says the Seer."

The assassin looked at him incredulously. "Is that why you went back? To again try to convince Mother Seer that she is wrong?"

"I went to collect my pack."

Nathyrra's eyes narrowed as she studied the warrior's face for any sign of emotion, but the shutters had well and truly been thrown up; if he was lying to her, he wasn't giving away any clues. Shaking her head, the drow female decided to change tack and refocused her attention upon the meeting.

"I don't trust him," she commented between gritted teeth after a short while.

"I don't trust her," Valen deadpanned by way of response.

o0o

Upon the half elf's approach, the other drow males didn't bother to straighten up; they just gazed impassively at her, each one surrounded by a palpable air of self confidence that Jen found just a little unsettling.

Gesturing to the first dark elf, Xen'shai began to make his introductions.

"This is Szinaufein," he said, motioning the fighter with twin blades strapped to his hips. "He is the nearest thing to what you on the surface might call a Ranger, and the youngest amongst us."

Szinaufein inclined his head towards Jen. "It… pleasure," he commented eventually in broken Common. "I fight with you. Fight against Valsharess." As if to emphasise his point, he smiled; this only emphasised his youth, and due to this Jen couldn't help but smile back.

The Deathsinger continued with his introductions with a slightly pointed cough.

"Next, we have Tsabandiir." From behind her, Jen heard a derisive snort, obviously coming from Nathyrra; the half elf was positive that Xen'shai heard it, but chose to ignore it. "He is, like you, a rogue. Isn't it good to have something in common?"

Jen stole a sideways glance at that decided odd and slightly condescending question, trying to discern exactly why Xen'shai had asked it… and, upon seeing the scowl that now sat upon Tsabandiir's face, who it was actually aimed at.

"Kyorl dosst ooble', Elghinnsunduiri…" the drow rogue hissed in a low voice.

Xen'shai raised a silvery eyebrow and pursed his lips in disapproval for a mere second before reverting back to his habitual half-smile.

"Tsabandiir extends his welcome. Please excuse him; he understands your surfacer tongue, but does not speak it well. Hopefully that will be remedied in time."

Tsabandiir's scowl deepened.

"Nathyrra said he can cast spells, too…" Jen asked hesitantly.

Xen'shai's almost shark-like smile widened again.

"Ahhh, you were listening before." His eyes slid to where Nathyrra was standing. "Or maybe dear Nathyrra has given you more information? No matter; you are correct. Tsabandiir has the ability to cast some healing spells. Useful, no?"

Again, Xen'shai's odd question and rather condescending tone made Jen feel rather like she was playing a somewhat complicated, uncomfortable game.

"Well, healing's always a bonus..." she replied, unsure of what else to say.

"Indeed it is, Jallil d' Ssussun. Having Tsabandiir with us gives us a clear advantage, does it not?"

"Yes… I suppose so…" Jen hazarded guardedly.

This time, it was the drow rogue's turn to snort.

Ignoring this, Xen'shai indicated towards the next drow. She had noticed before that he was the tallest of the group, but upon seeing him up close, Jen paled a little and had to hold in a gasp; every piece of exposed skin apart from his face was covered in scars, carven images of spiders and cobwebs. She couldn't imagine why anyone would want to do that to himself.

"Next is Rizonym, a fearsome fighter who has paid the price for defying his Matron." Xen'shai made a show of shaking his head sadly. "Normally, he would have paid with his life... but, despite his rebellious tendencies, Rizonym was still one of his Mistress'… ah, favourites, and so she decided to torture him instead." Xen'shai winked mischievously at Jen, as if sharing a rather amusing secret. "She did cast a permanent spell of silence upon him as well as painting his body to remind him where his loyalties should lie. "Xen'shai leaned a little closer towards Jen so he could whisper in her ear and gave her a significant look. "His Mistress did not want to cut out his tongue."

Jen's brow wrinkled for a moment as she puzzled out why that would be the case. "Why didn't she want to do that? A permanency spell is expensive"

At that, Xen'shai glanced over to the drow Jen guessed might be a mage with a slyly wicked smile touching his lips – a smile that the other drow, rather worryingly, returned.

"Folt biu vassnti..." he murmured, his voice like silk. "It would be wise if you thought before you spoke. Take a moment to think about it."

Taking his advice, Jen did just that. When it eventually dawned upon her what he might be alluding to she went an impressive shade of crimson and now feeling embarrassed as well as uncomfortable, Jen leaned away from the Deathsinger a little.

"C… can he talk now?"

It was Rizonym that answered, his voice slow and ponderous.

"Yes. The Seer broke the enchantment for me. I am grateful."

"Oh. I see."

The scarred drow did not reply and just regarded her silently.

"He does not speak much; a century or more of silence will do that to you," Xen'shai broke in. "But you would want no other at your back." The Deathsinger raised an eyebrow and then moved on to the last drow in the group, the one who wore the attire of a mage.

"And last, but by no means least, this is my half brother, Jehk'ril," Xen'shai grinned broadly at the drow he had shared the sly smile with, clapping him lightly upon the back. Jehk'ril grinned back.

_Oh great. Two of them… _thought Jen with an internal sigh.

"It is an honour to fight by your side," Jehk'ril offered, the sentiment of his words not quite matching his tone.

Having been taught not to lie, Jen did not answer him; this, however, just seemed to amuse both the mage and the Deathsinger alike.

o0o

Valen and Nathyrra continued to observe the introductions: the drow with a sense of cold anger, the horned warrior with an air carefully contrived detachment. However, if someone had studied his eyes closely they would have seen the obvious flicker of fury deep within them.

After the exchange between Jen, Xen'shai and Rizonym, Valen balled his hands into fists. "Trust or not; some lines aren't crossed," he muttered under his breath. Upon hearing those words, Nathyrra glanced up at him.

"See how she handles it," the drow murmured in a quietly mollifying voice .

"They're toying with her," Valen said, his voice a low growl.

"I know. It angers me too. If things get out of hand then step in by all means… but just bear in mind that if you charge to her side like some knight of legend, they will never respect her."

At that, Valen's jaw tightened, but he did not respond

o0o

"You're brothers?"

Jehk'ril inclined his head. "Half brothers, Jallil d'Ssussun. We share the same mother. Normally family plays little part in drow society, but we are not part of normal drow society, and so we value each other highly."

Jen thought of her own half brother, and the simple love she felt for him. Somehow, she couldn't see Xen'shai and Jehk'ril feeling the same way about each other as she did about Renlan.

"I can appreciate that, I suppose."

Jehk'ril then looked past her, his gaze falling upon Deekin. "Is that your familiar?" he asked a little disdainfully.

"No," replied Jen, matching his scathing tone. "His name is Deekin."

"So, a pet, then?"

Jen gave Jehk'ril a cool look. "No. He's a bard."

Jehk'ril offered her an incredulous look. "Truly? A kobold bard? I have never heard of such a thing before."

Aware that he was being spoken about, Deekin strummed his lyre self consciously. "Deekin is bard - not usual for kobolds, but Deekin very rare, very different. Still a bard, though. Boss made it so. It why Deekin travels with boss a long time."

"Boss?" Jehk'ril commented faintly. "How… quaint." He turned to his half brother, smirking a little. "Dalninuk, it looks like you have competition…"

For the first time since she had met him, Xen'shai did not look pleased.

"There is a world of difference between a Deathsinger and just being a bard, Jehk'ril," he said, a slightly icy edge to his voice.

Jehk'ril's amusement deepened at his brother's displeasure. "But do you not both sing songs in battle, Xen'shai?" He gave Jen a conspiratorial wink. "I prefer to rain down death from above… but each to their own, I suppose."

"Tlu suust lu' vrine'winith galla ulu toun l' jalil," Xen'shai responded in a low voice. "Usstan zhaun ol uriu tlus fol draeval, drill dosst brou'ka xo'an ulu morfeth uns'aa lor myar uns'aa orn naut morfeth ilta nuor wun ulu dosst orlingg jala qeeh."

Jen had no idea what Xen'shai had just said, but it sounded for all the world like a reprimand. Jehk'ril on the other hand, just raised his eyebrows and smirked. "We shall see…"

Seeing Jen's confusion, Xen'shai softened his expression. "We should not speak drow around Jenalil. It is unfair."

"Maybe we could… teach her?" offered Jehk'ril, the smirk still firmly in place.

Before Xen'shai could answer, one large, gauntleted hand descended down and came to rest upon the Deathsinger's shoulder; the other did the same, with Jehk'ril as its target, pulling the two of them far apart.

"That's enough," growled Valen, his visage, if anything, sterner than ever. "There will be time for… small talk later." He gave both the drow males a slightly distasteful look. "Now, we have to get going."

Xen'shai and Jehk'ril both returned the large warrior's look with one that promised violence, then, remembering themselves, backed up as graciously as they could without losing any more face.

Surprised as she was, Jen gave the warrior a grateful look.

It was a look that Valen did not return as he turned to face the city gates.

___Elghinnsunduiri – Deathsinger._

___Dalninuk - brother._


	5. Into the Zhasen

Chapter Five – Into the Zhasen

The gates to Lith My'athar were large, iron wrought affairs that gave any potential visitor no doubt as to whom the inhabitants of the city were; adamantite spiders festooned every square inch of the barbed portal, filigreed with delicately spun threads of silver that represented the cobwebs upon which actual arachnids lived. As with the city, there was a shocking conflict between violence and beauty to the gates that unnerved Jen more than she would ever admit – not that she really needed anything more to unnerve her at that current moment.

Looking around herself, the half elf's anxiety only increased when she saw how seemingly relaxed the rest of her ragtag group of allies was. They all exuded the air of the veteran soldier; experienced hands at this type of thing. Whilst Jen was no amateur upon the battlefield and had plenty of hard won victories under her belt, the fact that she had been told that – whether they believed it or not – she would lead a miscellaneous collection of idealists and rebels to triumph weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

A survivor – a fighter, in more ways than one – she may be. An intentional hero, however…

For the first time in what seemed an age, she thought briefly back to the time she had fought Heurodis and her subsequent time upon the Plane of Shadow. Deekin had been with her, as had Dorna and Xanos.

_Dorna and Xanos… I wonder what they are doing now… _

Jen snorted a little, smiling to herself. Whatever they were doing, it was bound to be better – and safer- than what she was up to now.

_How was that time different to now, I wonder?_ _I suppose then I had no choice: fight or die… there was no thinking involved. Just action. Now… _

Her train of thought was broken with the softest of coughs, its purpose to get attention rather than clear the throat. Jen's head snapped up, her hand instinctively going for the sword strapped to her hip before she remembered exactly where she was and who she was with.

"I said, what do you think?"

It had been Nathyrra who had coughed, but Valen who had asked her the question. He was standing to the left of her with an expression of impatient irritation upon his face.

"Uh, sorry… can you ride that by me again?"

For a second, Jen thought she could actually see his right eye tic with suppressed anger.

"We have been discussing tactics whilst you have been…daydreaming," he said, his deep voice noticeably clipped, no more than a growl.

"Valen…" said Nathyrra softly with the slightest undercurrent of warning in her tone.

The horned man ignored the drow, his intense, accusing stare still fixed upon Jen, making her squirm uncomfortably and wish fervently that she had been listening instead of trying to order events in her head.

Rescue came from the unlikeliest of sources.

"Now, now, Errdegah-chath… do not be so unreasonable. Jenalil has been through much in the past few days; she is bound to be preoccupied." Xen'shai stepped up beside Jen and offered her the sincerest of looks before turning back to Valen, whereupon his expression took on the perfect appearance of righteous indignation. "That she has not had time to sort through, and come to terms with, what she has been asked – nay, forced – to do is tantamount to a crime. Are you so surprised that she does not have her full attention upon us?"

Jen didn't think it was possible, but Valen's expression hardened even further.

"Whether she has had 'time to sort through what she has been forced to do' or not is none of my concern, Deathsinger. My concern is the protection of the Seer and of the people of Lith My'athar. The Valsharess won't give a damn as to whether the half elf is mentally ready to accept to the reality of what is going on around her; she will strike regardless, and strike with a full compliment of allies if we do not act soon." He then took a step forward so that he towered over the shorter male; at first it looked like Xen'shai was going to square up to the warrior, but then took a small step backwards with an acquiescing inclination of his head.

Jen let go of her breath in a slow, steady stream, completely unaware of when she had been holding it.

"I am aware of our situation, Shadowbreath," Xen'shai replied, the usual silky edge to his voice firmly back in place. "I have lost many comrades in arms to this war, as have we all. That does not change the fact that getting angry with Jenalil solves nothing."

Even though the drow disturbed her in more ways than one, at that moment in time Jen felt thankful that the Deathsinger was there to help her. The fact that Valen had referred to her as 'the half elf' stung, and so to have seemingly wholehearted support from such an improbable source was actually a comfort. This feeling increased when Nathyrra joined in and supported Xen'shai, something that Jen knew galled the other female more than anything.

"Xen'shai has a point, Valen… I know you are keen to get this over and done with, but it is not Jen's fault." She laid a placating hand upon the warrior's forearm; he shook it off angrily, and after shooting Jen a look of pure venom, stalked away from the group.

o0o

It was Szinaufein that broke the silence that had descended upon the small group after Valen had left. The ranger had been hovering on the edge of the exchange; now it was over, he stepped lightly over with the grace of a dancer and smiled at Jen. Again, she was caught by how young he looked; she guessed that had he been human, he would have been no older than sixteen.

"Errdegah-chath… he have avuna… fury," he said, concentrating hard upon the unfamiliar syllables he was speaking. "Not you. He have fury. Worry no. He come back, fight with you not as enemy. As abban … as ally." Szinaufein gave her an encouraging nod.

"Szinaufein is right," Nathyrra added. "Valen is a man of action… ultimately, he just wants the best for the Seer, and therefore for all of us."

"That still doesn't give him the right to play the bully," Xen'shai said softly, his comment aimed at Nathyrra but his attention fixed firmly upon Jen.

"Zu'tour phor, Xen'shai," Nathyrra snapped in drow. "Vrine'winith galla ulu morfeth klezn medose taga nind zhal'la tlu."

"I am just pointing out the truth…"

Nathyrra snorted. "When you have any inkling of what the truth is, then you can comment. Until then: hold your tongue!"

Xen'shai's attention slid towards the assassin.

"Asanque… Ilharess"

Jen had no idea what the Deathsinger had said to Nathyrra, but whatever it was, it made the colour drain from the assassin's face, turning her obsidian face an ashen shade of grey. Looking stricken, Nathyrra took a step back, her former aggression all but lost, only to be replaced with what Jen could only describe as fear. Fear of what, though, the half elf did not know.

"Do… do not call me that!" Nathyrra stammered. "I only meant we should work together!"

Xen'shai said nothing; her just quirked an eyebrow with a faintly smug air, glancing towards his brother. Jehk'ril mirrored his brother's look for a second, before smoothing his face back to one of blank impassivity.

"Look… maybe I should go and apologise to Valen. Try to smooth things over," Jen said, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. She had thought it thick and oppressive when the warrior had stormed off, but that was nothing compared to what hung over the small group of drow now.

"That may be unwise, Jen," replied Nathyrra, obviously relieved for any change in subject, no matter how slight. "It wasn't just your inattentiveness earlier that angered him; he has been angry for some time now. I shall go."

Jen shook her head. "No," she said, her tone final. "I appreciate that you're trying to help me and everything, but if he's going to travel with us, I need to be able to talk to him."

Nathyrra gave Jen a slightly apprehensive look. "I know what you are trying to do, Jen… and with time, it may work. But Valen… Valen is not like other men. He needs to come to terms with things in his own time. To force him can be… dangerous."

"We do not call him Errdegah-chath for nothing," added Rizonym in his deep, ponderous voice.

Jen took a moment to study each drow face in front of her before making her mind up.

"I don't care. I'm not going to go through this each time we speak. At the end of the day, we have to work together – all of us, whether we like it or not – if we're going to succeed."

Without waiting for any of the others to respond, the half elf then turned on one heel and left.

o0o

"Was that wise?"

Nathyrra watched as the petite half elven woman she had been told would be the downfall of the Valsharess stalked away from them in pursuit of a man who could pick her up and snap her in half as if she were so much dry kindling if he wanted to.

The drow surrounding her either shrugged or shook their heads.

"She will do what she sees fit," Xen'shai answered her as he crossed his arms over his chest, his shrewd expression the complete opposite to Nathyrra's confused one.

"If the Seer is correct, she is the one to lead us in conquering many mighty foes," added Tsabandiir in his breathy, almost whispery voice. "If she is indeed the one, then one tiefling should not give her any bother."

At that, Nathyrra nodded, her attention still focused upon Jen's retreating figure.

"I hope you are right. For all of our sakes."

o0o

Stalking away, Valen had to rein in the urge to slam his flail into the rock wall that bordered the wide path outside the city gates; not only would it have been a childish thing to do, but it would also have highlighted just how angry this would situation made him, making him vulnerable.

Even he admitted to himself that it wasn't so much the half elven female that annoyed him – she seemed inoffensive enough in a slightly awkward, out-of-her-depth kind of way – what really irritated him was what she was being trusted to do, all on the strength of a vision.

It irritated him even more that she was being trusted over him.

It had taken him months to gain the trust of the inhabitants of Lith My'athar. Of course, the Seer had been the exception, trusting him straight away; she had, after all, been his saviour and had seen into his soul, so there was no way this side of the Abyss he could lie to her even if he wanted to – but the others…

Sitting upon one of the many pillow lavas that dotted the pathway, the tiefling drew one knee to his chest and hugged it to him with one well muscled arm, closed his eyes and tried to allow some of the fury that always seemed to boil just below the surface of his soul drain away.

… The other inhabitants of Lith My'athar had been suspicious – disdainful, even – of him when he first arrived. He had fought endlessly to escape the Abyss, ransoming his body and soul more times that he would ever admit just to be free; just to see if the woman who had stripped away every last piece of the mindless, malevolent armour he wrapped himself in to glimpse momentarily into his heart - and more importantly, to allow him to do the same – was real and not the dream he feared she would turn out to be. And after all of this… they doubted him. Even worse, in the case of the rebels who did not hold Eilistraee dear to their hearts, they sneered at him; to them, he was nothing more than a tool to be called upon at will, a puppet whose strings could be pulled by those strong enough to cast the spells needed to summon his like from their Abyssal home plane.

So he had fought again. Fought for the Seer; fought the legions of the Valsharess; fought to prove himself.

Fought to be the man the Seer had shown him he could be if he was only given the chance.

The female Prime would never understand this. She would never appreciate what the Seer had done for him. She would step up, take her place at the head of the army he had struggled to hold together and take from him everything he had striven for without a second thought.

_It's not jealousy, _he thought as he stared moodily into the darkness. A small, wry smile touching his lips for a second as he realised there was no point lying to himself. _…Well, okay, maybe a little bit of it is. More that she has no idea what she is doing. What this all means. If she walks away…_

He left the thought hanging; even in the confines of his own head, the tiefling didn't want to contemplate the consequences of their failure. That was why he had volunteered, even though he did not believe in the Seer's visions nor believe that Jenalil could even begin to do what the Seer had prophesised she would. That was why, no matter how much it galled him, no matter how much it enraged the demon inside, he would help her in any way he could.

o0o

Even though she was still well within sight of the gates to Lith My'athar, each step that took Jen away from the drow group seemed to take her further from civilisation. The stone outside the city was largely unworked and rose in great hexagonal pillars of basalt and immense plumes of pillow lava, lending the landscape an eerie, alien feel – one that the half elf was finding hard to reconcile.

She found the warrior sitting atop a pillow lava, one knee drawn to his chest with one arm encircling it and an air that she could only describe as 'petulant' surrounding him. Valen hadn't moved far from the group; just enough to be outside of the enchantment of her circlet, but close enough to be within charging distance if anything decided to ambush them from the shadows. He did not look up when she approached, and since she was not trying to be quiet in any way, she doubted that he wasn't aware of her presence – and that meant, as a flare annoyance ignited within her, that he was deliberately ignoring her.

Nurturing the small flame that burned within her, Jen steeled herself for an argument as she approached the odd looking warrior. He seemed deep within thought, but she did not let that fool her; the tension evident in his well-made frame left her in no doubt that he not only knew she was there, but that he was waiting for her to speak first.

She stopped a foot or so from him, one hand resting upon Enserric's pommel. Even sheathed, the sword still whispered to her, but his voice was muffled and indistinct; this was, considering the insatiable appetite for blood that the blade had, probably a good thing – the last thing she needed was for Enserric to take advantage of this situation for his own, bloody gain.

After a prolonged and decidedly uncomfortable moment, the horned warrior looked up at her, tilting his head sideways in a way that might have been considered endearingly quizzical if it had not been for the scowl.

"What do you want?"

Jen swallowed, all of a sudden not feeling quite so cocky. Angry at herself that he could intimidate her with a simple question, the half elf concentrated hard upon the small flame of anger that had ignited earlier, willing it take hold and spread through out her body and tried to match his intensely icy gaze.

"We need to get going."

In response, Valen stood up. "I know," he growled, intentionally towering over her.

"That is what I was trying to organise."

Jen fought back the urge to take a step backwards. "I know… I'm sorry I wasn't listening, but so much has happened recently…"

"More is going to happen," the warrior interrupted. "You've got to learn to deal with it."

At that, the half elf couldn't help but laugh derisively.

"You just don't let up, do you? I'm trying to apologise – for something, might I add, that any reasonable person would understand - and you're still determined to make me feel like some erring child." She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I am sorry I got roped into this. I am sorry I took over your coveted position as resident hero. I am sorry I've been dubbed 'the saviour' over you. I. Am. Sorry. Okay? Believe me, if I could hand it all over to you and leave this godsforsaken hellhole, I would. But I can't. I'm stuck here, and if you really want to help me, you're going to have to learn to live with that!"

For a moment, the warrior just stared at her.

"And that is supposed to make everything all right, is it?" Valen sneered in response. "Let's forget that the fate of hundreds, if not thousands, of people depends upon our success; don't worry, I can just flutter my eyelashes, say I'm not ready and I'm sure that the battle for survival will be delayed until I've had a nice hot bath and a few days to scrutinise all my options so that I know exactly what is being asked of me." The warrior took another step forward so that the rogue had to crane her head up to continue looking at his face. "This WAR, Jenalil, not some silly skirmish against orcs and kobolds in an airy wood somewhere, where we all have access to true-blue allies and everyone gets to go home early for dinner. Whether you want to fight - whether you are sorry for what has happened – has nothing to do with _anything_ right now. If we fail, then all is lost. If the Valsharess wins, then say goodbye to your comfortable little surface world way of life, because it simply won't exist anymore. It is as simple as that."

For a second, Jen stood, dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the warrior's arrogance. "And you honestly believe that I don't know this?!" she answered incredulously, raising her voice. "Of course I know! For one, you've made sure that I can't forget it! Even by volunteering for this, you've made it quite plain you don't think I can cope on my own; that I'm just some silly girl who likes to think she can play with swords…"

"Oh, don't give me that!" Valen exploded. "Don't twist my words and give me the 'you're a misogynistic bastard and that's why you don't think I can cope' routine - I know you're capable, Jenalil; you got through Undermountain with less allies than you have now, and that's no mean feat. But you have to believe me when I say that I will not allow the Seer to be betrayed by anyone – and _that_ is the reason why I am here. Not that I think you are incapable; nothing so self indulgent. Just that, until you give me a reason to think otherwise, I do not trust you."

At his outburst, Jen reeled back a little as if she'd been slapped. Upon seeing this, the warrior at least had the decency to step back a little and look to the floor. They stood for a moment, both averting their gazes, caught halfway between facing off and being contrite. It was Jen who broke the silence.

"I know you don't like me, Valen, but…"

"That's not true," the horned man interrupted quietly, still looking towards the ground.

Surprised by his interruption, Jen looked up.

"Then why are you so adamant that I'm going to fail?" she asked.

It took Valen a moment to answer the rogue's question.

"Because I don't trust you. Whether or not I like you doesn't come into it – I hardly know you, so it would be stupid for me to make any such assumptions - and it's also not that I don't think you're capable; it's just that you haven't been around. You haven't seen the carnage that the Valsharess' troops are capable of." He looked away from her. "And you can't possibly have any idea how important the Seer is to me and to these people. We are essentially placing our lives in your hands – and that doesn't come easily to me." He looked back. "Put yourself in my position for a moment. A stranger with no knowledge of your situation turns up and is put in charge of your future and the future of those you are close to – and to make it even more difficult to swallow, it's all on a vision. How would you feel? Happy? Confident? I doubt it."

It was Jen's turn to look away. "And it doesn't help when it's all based on a vision you don't believe in, does it."

"No."

She looked back. "I suppose I can appreciate your position, Valen – and yes, in your situation, I'd probably feel the same... but, whether you like it or not, this is the position we are in. We have to work together."

"I know."

Jen sighed. "Let me guess. That doesn't make it any easier."

Valen gave her a measured look. "No."

"So what do you suggest we do?"

He shrugged. "We do our best and go and break some alliances."

At that, Jen couldn't help but nod.

_But whose alliances will we be breaking, I wonder…_


	6. Silence is Golden

_Sorry this has taken so long to update: I have had a couple of art commissions to finish, plus my muse was badgering me to paint a new drow portrait. If you're curious, they are / will be available on my DeviantART page._

_Also apologies for another dialogue-heavy chapter – I've actually had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. _

Chapter Six – Silence is Golden

The half elf made a slow and thoughtful way back to the assembled drow, attempting to sort out everything she had been told – and everything she had been accused of - in her mind. She now had an inkling as to why Valen had been so negative with regards to her arrival as well as to why he had agreed to join her; the Seer was obviously important to him in some way, although in exactly what way and why, she wasn't sure. For reasons she would never be able to fathom, this bothered her slightly, and for a moment, she entertained the notion that they might be lovers – would certainly explain his devotion to her – but if that was the case, Jen couldn't see how their relationship could be a healthy one; it seemed that the warrior owed the Seer something, and such relationships built on debt were rarely pure. One thing was certain; he was still definitely holding something back, and even though he had admitted it wasn't so much her as a person he had a problem with, she still got the distinct impression that she hadn't won… not that there seemed to be anything worth winning in the first place.

Taking a moment to glance back she saw that the warrior was following a few steps behind her, his expression a curious mixture of sour animosity and dour determination – in other words, no change from his previous demeanour. Fixing her attention back to the direction in which she was walking, the rogue squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slightly; some things were probably left alone, she decided. There were far greater things to worry about than whether every single person who fought by her side was her best friend – as long as she could trust them not to stick a dagger in her back at the first given opportunity, then that was enough.

Ironically, in that respect, she trusted the irascible fighter rather more than the more charming members of the drow band she had so recently allied herself with.

o0o

It was Nathyrra who greeted Jen with a smile; the rest of the drow band were either frowning or looking nervously around themselves, hands hovering over various weapon hilts. Not understanding why, the half elf gave the drow assassin a questioning look; one that was replied not with words, but with an obsidian finger help over polished black lips – the universal sign for quiet.

Stepping lightly over to Jen, it became apparent that Nathyrra's smile was a tense one, with her eyes darting to the left and right of her, as if she was expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

"Is everything all right?" she asked as soon as she was within whispering distance. "I heard raised voices… shouting really isn't a good idea in the Underdark. Most creatures hunt by their sense of hearing over other sight or smell, and so loud altercations are definitely discouraged…"

There was a slightly reproving tinge to Nathyrra's tone that made Jen cringe a little in shame; whether she had meant to imply it or not, the message was clear: _If you had let me go and calm him down, we wouldn't be in this situation…_

As Valen came to a standstill next to Jen, there was no mistaking the drow's disapproving tone.

"You should know better, Valen. You have been down here long enough to know the tactics our enemies and those who would call us prey use."

Rather than be abashed, however, the warrior just snorted in contempt.

"I have fought countless devils in the endless wastes of the Abyss and on the plains of Baator, Assassin… there is nothing that inhabits Underdark that frightens me. We will be attacked whether we keep our voices down or not; it is inevitable."

At Valen's description of his previous engagements, Jen frowned in confusion, not quite knowing what he meant; towards the back of her mind a little flag rose, but at that precise moment it was too elusive to capture and analyse. Nathyrra, however, did not seem to be at all nonplussed by what the warrior had said, and they continued to bicker regarding the inevitability of the dangers they were facing versus the need for caution, mirroring beautifully their two different mindsets with regards to how to deal with enemies.

They continued to quarrel for the few moments it took the three of them to join the rest of their party; it was Nathyrra who stopped first, obviously wanting to make sure she did not lose any face with the other drow. Once he realised the assassin was no longer playing along, Valen fell silent with an air of sullen arrogance about him; at that point, Jen felt an unexpected and surprisingly sharp urge to slap him – instead, she gritted her teeth and forced a smile onto her face.

"Jallil d'Ssussun… is everything all right?" asked Xen'shai, the smug look of understanding on his face contradicting his question completely. "Is there anything I… that is, we, can do for you?"

"No, everything's fine…" Jen mumbled in return, carefully making sure she did not meet his deep green eyes as the Deathsinger moved closer to her.

"You are sure?" he near murmured, his proximity a little too close for comfort. Leaning away slightly, Jen wondered if the drow bard had any concept of personal space, reasoning pretty quickly that he probably did and that in getting up close and personal with people was his way of ensuring he had the upper hand in any given situation.

It certainly was an effective strategy.

Deciding not to answer Xen'shai's rather loaded question, Jen decided to fix her attention upon their current circumstance.

"Right… so, where do we go now?" she said, rather too brightly as she looked around herself. "Everywhere kind of looks the same…"

"The illithid enclave of Zovak'Mur is the closest to us," replied Jehk'ril, glancing towards his brother, a hint of a sly smile touching his lips. "About 3 days travel west from here. Maybe that would be a good place to start?"

"The Eye Tyrant Hive is not so far from there," added Rizonym with a slow nod. "Two imps with one arrow."

Jen returned the nod with one of her own. "Imloth said the enclaves weren't too far away from each other – a few days at the most… if things go well, we could have this whole thing tied up within a couple of tendays."

At that, the drow exchanged rather incredulous glances and then looked away from each other as if embarrassed. Valen was not so restrained.

"And by that comment, you only confirm our suspicions; that you truly have no idea what you are facing," the warrior said, his tone disparaging. "I suppose optimism always was the sole domain of the foolish."

Not wanting to get into another argument, Jen gritted her teeth and fought to keep her own voice steady.

"If you can't be optimistic, you may as well give up before you even start," she replied. "And we need to start somewhere." She focused her attention back to the ensembled drow. "Are we in agreement – we go to the Illithid enclave first?"

At her apparent dismissal of his rather barbed comment, Valen grunted under his breath and folded his arms over his chest. Without looking to her warrior comrade, Nathyrra nodded in agreement.

"It seems to be as good a plan as any," she conceded. "Although from now on in, I recommend that we keep as quiet as possible." She looked around herself and suppressed a shiver. "I fear we may already have alerted the local wildlife to our presence in a way we may later regret; let us ensure we do not attract anymore attention to ourselves unnecessarily."

Despite their apparent differences, no one disagreed with her.

o0o

Sorting out their marching order turned out to be less painful than Jen thought it would be. Being a ranger, Szinaufein volunteered to take point, with Nathyrra as his go-between betwixt himself and the rest of the party. Then came Rizonym and Tsabandiir; the two of them refused to be separated for reasons Jen did not know, and at that precise moment, did not trust. Xen'shai and Jehk'ril then offered to accompany Jen next, their reasoning being that they knew the area well enough to keep the half elf informed as to what was going on, but at the same time, they were near enough to the back not to be in the front line. Deekin faithfully followed Jen, and no amount of arguing would convince him to take up any other position. Finally, Valen brought up the rear. This has surprised Jen at first - she had figured he would have wanted too be near the front, leading them, but instead he seemed content to follow everyone and protect their backs – when questioned if he was all right with the arrangement, he simply stated that he had the best vantage point for any potential treachery, an answer that made Jen sigh inwardly.

Jen had felt okay upon setting off; not particularly buoyant, but at the same time cautiously optimistic. The small group had walked through small checkpoints manned by rebels faithful to the Seer; each one had saluted them as they passed, some with smiles, others with looks of grim determination – nonetheless, the presence of the small companies had been a comfort to Jen in that they were a kind of reminder that civilisation of a sort wasn't so far away. This had all changed once they had passed the last checkpoint; the open cavern had narrowed down to a tunnel in which they could only walk two abreast, the unworked stone making even that difficult. In Jen's experience, caves tended to be damp affairs, but in the depths of the Underdark there was no extraneous moisture; they were simply too deep for surface moisture to be a problem. This little fact made the half elf feel decidedly uncomfortable, and rather than worry about the politics of her little band, she spent most of her time fighting off waves of claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm her and send her back screaming to Lith My'athar.

"Boss?"

Deekin's familiar croak broke Jen's rather panicky train of thought.

"Keep it down, Deek," muttered the half elf as Jekh'ril glanced round at them reprovingly. He made a hand gesture that she didn't understand at her, but the look on his face made it clear that talking loudly was not a good option.

Deekin looked suitably abashed. "Oh, okay. Sorry, boss. Boss?"

Although it was obvious that the kobold was trying to whisper, his rasping voice still seemed to echo around the heights of the narrow corridor.

"What?" replied Jen through gritted teeth.

"We go now to talk to Mind flayers known as Illithid who likes to eat brains?"

Jen closed her eyes for a brief second and counted to ten in her head.

"Yes."

"Talk or fight?" the kobold asked.

"What?"

"Talk or fight?"

"Will you make him shut up before I am forced to?" interrupted Valen from behind, his whisper more of an angry rumble.

"Don't talk to him like that," Jen snapped back, her nerves getting the better of her.

"Then get him to shut up!" hissed the warrior.

"He's not a pet! If you want him to be quiet, tell him yourself!"

"You allowed him to come along – he's your responsibility!"

Deekin followed the argument that was blossoming over his head with seemingly innocent interest before turning around and, walking backwards, looked thoughtfully up at Valen.

"Now Goatman louder than Deekin. Deekin have moral victory, Deekin thinks."

At that, Jen had to stifle a snicker.

"What did you call me?" demanded Valen, his hand hovering over the handle of his weapon.

"Goatman. Because you got goat horns." Deekin peered up at the much larger man. "Deekin wonders how you gots them. Cursed?"

"No! I wasn't cursed! I've always had them; I was born with them," Valen answered furiously.

"Is that why Goatman down here and not up on surface?"

"What?" The warrior looked both outraged and confused.

Deekin grinned widely, showing many pointed teeth. Not for the first time Jen found herself respecting the little kobold; many people underestimated him due to what he was, and much to their embarrassment, often found themselves on the wrong side of a well placed and rather accurate insult.

"Deekin can only imagine that mans with goat horns might have hard times, if goatman gets what Deekin is saying."

Glancing around, Jen guessed that Valen did get what Deekin was saying considering the way his face hardened as he glared at the kobold bard; there was also a flicker of something the half elf couldn't quite put her finger on behind those ice blue eyes that made her intervene.

"Okay, Deek, you've made your point. That's enough," she said quietly. She turned back around to see Jekh'ril and Xen'shai doing the same after sharing a single, knowing look.

"But…" Deekin began.

"I said that's enough, Deekin. Concentrate on what is going on around us."

"Boss wants Deekin to sing?"

Jen sighed. "Exactly how is that supposed to help us concentrate?" she asked, unable to stop herself from smiling. "No, Deekin, I don't want you to sing."

"Okay. Deekin watches out for bad peoples." The kobold nodded decisively, clutching his lyre to his thin, scaled chest.

"Yeah… you do that," Jen replied, bemused and shaking her head slightly.

o0o

They had been walking in silence for what seemed an age before the narrow corridor widened out, alleviating slightly the oppressive claustrophobia that Jen was still experiencing. Deekin had thankfully decided to keep his thoughts to himself after his little altercation with Valen; the warrior had likewise kept silent, his ostensibly heavy footfalls being the only thing Jen could hear above the beat of her own heart. Conversely, the drow were like graceful shadows, and even though the half elf knew they were in front of her, she had difficulty in spotting where they all were at any one time.

What had surprised Jen the most was the lack of enemies; she had been under the impression that they would be attacked at all turns, but apart from the odd bat sculling unseen air currents towards the cavern roof, they hadn't seen anything. This, however, wasn't much of a comfort – she was well aware that just because you could neither see nor hear your enemy didn't mean they weren't there…

For the first time since they had set off, Nathyrra moved her way to the back of the group, her welcoming smile at odds with the obvious tension that sang through her body.

"We should be able to find a place to stop soon," she said quietly. "Szinaufein says he knows of a sheltered spot that is easily defensible not far from here." She then paused. her smile was replaced by a look of apprehensive concern. "I also came back here to warn you that the terrain here becomes a little bit more… difficult."

"Define 'difficult'," Jen said suspiciously.

"Well… for drow it is not much of a problem, but… well, have you engaged in any rock climbing recently?" Nathyrra asked carefully.

"Rock climbing?!" Jen answered, now more than slightly alarmed.

Nathyrra grinned.

"Don't worry; it's nothing too dangerous. We just need to climb down by the waterfall, and it gets a bit slippery."

"Okay – that doesn't sound too bad," conceded the half elf.

"Well… not just that. Any source of water is a drawing point for all Underdark denizens; if we are to come across anything, it will be there," said Nathyrra ruefully.

"Oh," sighed Jen. "So, slippery rocks, danger of falling _and_ a higher chance of being attacked. Thanks for the warning."

"Forewarned is forearmed… just make sure you keep your eyes open. We'll have your back as much as possible, but you never know." The drow gave the half elf a significant look.

To that, Jen raised an eyebrow and nodded thoughtfully.

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll watch where I put my feet."

After nodding back, Nathyrra made her nimble way back to her position, melting back into the shadows until she disappeared from Jen's sight.

After walking for a short while, the waterfall that Nathyrra had mentioned began to make its presence known as the sound of rushing water became apparent; the surrounding air also began to grow cooler and the ever-present fungus that seemed endemic to the Underdark grew in even greater numbers and varieties, some of which glowed, giving off an eerie luminescence that bathed everything in a sickly, greenish light that only made the shadows seem deeper, making the surroundings feel even more strange and alien to the half elf.

Resting a hand upon Enserric's pommel, Jen peered into the half light ahead of her, trying without any luck to strain her ears to pick out any other sounds other than dim roar of the waterfall in the distance. Feeling unnerved, she tightened her fingers around her sword's hilt and felt the familiar, gnawing pull of the insatiable weapon as it tried to coax her into drawing it from it's scabbard and bury it in soft, unwilling flesh.

Taking a deep breath, Jen steeled herself into dealing with the sword she had forged such a schizophrenic relationship with. On one hand, it frightened her with its bloodlust and love of slaughter, but on the other, it gave her an undeniable edge in battle and, for some unknown reason, seemed to enhance her own not inconsiderable magical abilities. This might have been because the sentient consciousness that inhabited the sword had once been a mage of significant power, but Jen sensed that it was something deeper than that – something more fundamental and personal between herself and whatever dwelt within the blade.

Slowly, she unsheathed the sword from its scabbard, its own dull red glow intermingling with the wan green fluorescence.

"Ahhhh! At last! Free from that filthy scabbard," sighed the sword in the confines of her mind, its cultured tones tinged with an icy metallic edge that always reminded the rogue of a whetstone being drawn along the edge of a knife. "Do I sense elves? Drow?" It sneered evilly. "You might think that I have had drunk enough from the dark elven cup recently, but you'd be wrong…"

"They're not enemies," Jen whispered. "They're allies."

"What – all of them? Are you sure? Since when did that happen?" the sword asked, its tone a mixture of shock and annoyance.

"Since we fought Halaster… it really is best not to ask."

"Jallil d'Ssussun… who are you speaking to?" Xen'shai's whisper cut across the partially telepathic conversation Jen was engaged in.

"Uh, no one in particular…" Jen began, a blush creeping up her neck at being caught conversing with her weapon.

"One draws closer…" Enserric whispered with barely contained excitement.

"I know," Jen hissed from between her teeth. "Shut up!"

"I am sorry, Jabbress…" replied Xen'shai, his face the picture of hurt.

"No, no, not you," stuttered the half elf. "I wasn't referring to you; I was talking to… uh…" She held Enserric up for inspection.

"Ahhh… yes, closer… his blood will be sweet! Let us slit him open had have a taste…"

"No!" Jen exclaimed as she felt the hand that clutched Enserric's hilt being drawn forward towards the Deathsinger.

"No?" asked Xen'shai, obviously confused.

"Not you…" Jen smiled brightly and lowered Enserric. "Just pack it in or I lose you over the edge of the waterfall – got it?" she continued, scolding the sword; seeing Xen'shai's bewildered look, she shrugged helplessly and began to try to explain.

"It's the sword… its called Enserric and it, well, it… talks."

The light or realisation dawned upon the drow's face. "I see; a sentient sword. Such things are known to us – we prize them highly. It has been speaking to you, yes?"

"In a manner of speaking… yes."

"It taunts us! Kill it!" Enserric near shrieked in Jen's head.

"If you don't shut up, you're going back into the scabbard for good," hissed Jen whilst Xen'shai smirked to her left. "I've got other, rather less talkative weapons you know…"

The sword fell silent, but the hunger remained.

"Now, other than my travelling companions, do you sense anything that might be a threat to us?" the rogue continued, using the blade's own bloodlust to sense for hidden enemies.

"Yes," replied Enserric eventually, its tone sulky.

Jen's heart leapt to her throat.

"What?" whispered Jen, giving Xen'shai a slightly panicked look. In response, the Deathsinger unsheathed his own rapier and signalled to his brother.

"An Outsider. Watch them… they can be tricky."

"An Outsider? What are you on about?"

"From another Plane," sighed the sword. "For a manipulator of the arcane arts, you are woefully ill-informed…"

"Did the sword mention an Outsider?" interrupted Xen'shai.

Jen nodded. "Yes… it said that they can be tricky and are from another plane – we should watch ourselves..."

Xen'shai smiled knowingly and, without warning, placed a casual arm around Jen's shoulders, his smile broadening for a second as he felt her stiffen involuntarily and move away from him.

"I feel it is referring to the Errdegahr-chath," he said silkily, squeezing Jen's upper arm in a way that could be construed as comforting before letting her go. "Ask if there is anything else."

Rubbing her arm unconsciously to settle the goosebumps that prickled her skin under the leather of her armour and willing her heart to settle back into her chest, Jen nodded dumbly and mumbled the question to the sword.

"Hmmmm," it replied, as if it was savouring the air around them. "There are other things around, but being surrounded already by so much… potential means it is hard to decipher anything of threat."

"There's nothing in particular that stands out," the half elf translated, wishing fervently that the Deathsinger would leave her be as he leant closer towards her once again.

"But that does not mean there is nothing out there. I would keep your weapon naked if I were you, Jallil d'Ssussun – you never know when you will need it…" he murmured; at his decidedly odd turn of phrase, Jen felt her heart creep back into her throat, a flush of colour following it.

Seemingly relishing her discomfiture, Xen'shai then left her side with a wink and went to rejoin his brother.


	7. Waterfall

Chapter Seven – Waterfall

The rocks grew steadily wetter and more treacherous underfoot as the small band approached the waterfall, making the non-drow members slow their pace; conversely, the dark elves seemed the simply glide over the lichen encrusted outcrops, never once slipping nor stumbling. After catching herself for the third time and scraping her knee rather painfully upon a particularly jagged piece of rock, Jen felt rather jealous of their preternatural sense of poise and balance and was hoping against all hope that they wouldn't have to come back this way, thus avoiding what would be a rather unpleasant climb.

At last, the small group crested the main ridge and were presented with what was probably once an active lava field that was now dominated by a large, fast flowing river. The roar of the water was almost deafening at first, and as Jen approached the river's edge to peer carefully into its inky black depths, she felt a hand enclose lightly over her arm. Jumping a little, she whirled around, only to be faced with a very earnest looking Szinaufein.

"Not go near edge. Bad. Elggin rein… Sreenath. Danger-full." He smiled encouragingly as he gestured for Jen to come with him, away from the edge and back to the group. Glancing back once more at the hypnotic swirl of water, Jen absent-mindedly took Szinaufein's proffered hand and allowed him to lead her back to the others.

Once they were a safe enough distance away, the young dark elf let go of Jen's hand and joined his comrades, who were now quite a way ahead of them, inspecting the edge of the plateau near the head of the falls.

"They're trying to secure the best path down for us," said Nathyrra by way of explanation, having to raise her voice above the rushing clamour of the waters. "We drow do not find such things to be an obstacle, but you, Valen and Deekin do not have our abilities when it comes to dealing with such terrain."

"Abilities?" Jen remarked suspiciously. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

Nathyrra just smiled and turned to regard the group of drow males.

"Watch."

To Jen's absolute horror, Tsabandiir leant over the edge, and without a word, stepped off. A stab of panic welled up within the rogue as she stumbled forward, one hand outstretched in a last ditch attempt to grab him, hoping to drag him from the edge and stop him plunging to his death on the rocks below. Much to her confusion, the other drow did not move to help; they in fact moved in front of her, and from behind, someone grabbed her to stop her from reaching him.

"Are you lot mad?" she screamed, struggling a little. "Tsabandiir just jumped!"

"Calm down, Jen!" exclaimed Nathyrra, caught between shock and amusement at her reaction as she trapped either side of the rogue's head in between her hands, making the half elf focus upon her obsidian features. "Tsabandiir is all right; he did not jump, nor fall! He is just checking the way forward for you."

"What?" Jen asked, bewildered and a little breathless, her nerves twanging once more. "But I saw him; he just stepped off…"

Nathyrra smiled gently and shook her head. "No… that isn't what happened. We should have told you before, I suppose; although, in our defence, I didn't realise that you literally knew nothing about this facet of drow abilities. One of the reasons dark elves are so capable when it comes to ambush is because we can hide in the shadows - above our enemies if necessary." She pointed to the cavern ceiling.

The half elf's face morphed from one of bewilderment to sheer incredulity. "Don't tell me you can fly?"

"No… not in the classic sense," answered the assassin, her smile turning mischievously rueful. "But all the time we are underground, we can float." She gestured to the edge. "Go and see. Valen will make sure you don't fall if you are worried."

Jen's initial panic and surprise gave way to the realisation that it had been Valen who had grabbed her, and that his hands still held her wrists, preventing her from moving away. All of a sudden feeling incredibly uncomfortable at his close proximity, the half elf shook her wrists free from the warrior's grasp; for a moment, she wondered if he would actually let her go, but after what seemed to be an almost indecent pause, he dropped her wrists without a word. Swallowing hard, she wondered why Valen had refused to let her go as soon as Nathyrra had calmed her down; it was probably some kind of test, she reasoned – or, more likely, yet another excuse to remind her whom he thought should really be in charge.

Gathering her nerves, the half elf crept carefully towards the edge and peered down through the spray of the waterfall and into the darkness beyond. Squinting slightly, she could just make out the silhouette of dark figure clambering gracefully over the slick rocks below, making hand gestures that she could quite make out nor understand. Sitting back on her haunches, she looked up a little sheepishly at the others, fervently wishing that she had not made such a scene before.

"He says the way down is easier than it looks," rumbled Rizonym, "For you, the Errdegah-chath and the pet, that is."

A scowl replaced the sheepish look. "Don't call Deekin that," she said reprovingly.

"Asanque, Jallil d'Ssussun," the scarred drow replied, his voice as expressionless as ever.

Peering back over the edge, the half elf tried to see if she could pick out a safe route from above, but it was proving difficult by the magically enhanced sight her circlet provided – the rocks were simply too dark and glistened too wetly, giving them confusing angles that Jen couldn't fathom from her position as to whether they were true surfaces or optical illusions. Shaking her head a little, she straightened up and ignoring its protests, slid Enserric back into its scabbard.

"Long way down…" commented Deekin as he copied Jen and peered over the edge.

"Yes, it is," replied Jen flatly, her attention upon Nathyrra. "Are you sure there isn't another way down?"

The drow shook her head. "Like I said, this is not an obstacle for drow… in a way it acts as a natural barrier in the protection on Lith My'athar. Any enemy that is not drow coming this way would have to scale this cliff face, which in turn acts as a deterrent against casual attacks."

"That's all well and good, but it's not really helping now…"Jen sighed. "According to Rizonym, Tsabandiir says it's not as hard a climb as it looks."

The assassin cocked a sceptical eyebrow. "And you trust Tsabandiir?"

Jen gave the other female a rueful look. "Good point." She sighed again. "Still, we have to do this, so we may as well start now." She looked back over the edge. "Uh, where do we start?"

Nathyrra stepped off the edge and floated down a few feet and even though she knew that she was going to do it, Jen's heart still leapt to her throat again. Studying the rock face for a moment, the drow called to the half elf, indicating to an area that, to all intents and purposes, looked exactly the same as the rest of the outcrop.

"Start here," she said encouragingly. "The ledges are quite close together; even Deekin will not find this too hard."

"Deekin doesn't want to speak badly of Nathyrra, boss, but Deekin thinks she is talking rubbish," the kobold commented quietly, his copper eyes huge in his head.

Jen patted her companion on the shoulder sympathetically.

"I know how you feel, Deekin, I truly do."

o0o

In the end, Valen lead the three non drow in finding a way down the cliff face, growling a little in annoyance at the others' hesitation as he holstered his flail and swung himself over the edge. Deekin then followed with Jen steadying him as Valen helped him scramble down; being much shorter than the warrior, the kobold had to be physically lowered into Valen's arms and placed upon the floor, much to fighter's disgust. Lastly, Jen sat on the edge and, twisting her body, lowered herself over the cliff face gingerly with both Xen'shai and Nathyrra giving her words of encouragement, indicating where she should place her feet. To her surprise, Valen also helped by lightly grasping her feet and guiding them to safe footholds within the pitted rocks until all three of them stood in relative safety upon a wide ledge just under half a dragon's length from the top.

The roar of the waterfall was now deafening, and the party could only communicate via hand signals and facial expressions, and even these were hampered by the ever present spray that the crashing waters produced. Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Jen carefully paced the perimeter of the ledge, trying to ascertain their next route, an equally damp Valen following her, whilst Deekin huddled himself against a large boulder.

Feeling a tap upon her shoulder, the half elf looked around, blowing water from the tip of her nose.

"Way down!" yelled Valen, pointing to a cleft in the rocks. Jen had noticed it earlier, and whilst she could see its possibilities, it still looked rather dangerous.

"Could be dangerous!" she yelled back, pointing to Deekin, hoping the warrior understood her point. By the rolling of his eyes, she guessed he had.

"No choice!" he indicted with his hands that he could hoist the kobold onto his back and carry him down. "Carry! Wait here!"

Nodding in agreement, the two climbers made their way back over to Deekin.

"Deek!" Jen called, tapping the bard upon the shoulder. Shivering a little, Deekin looked up expectantly.

"Boss?" he croaked.

"Valen will carry you down the next bit," she explained, pointing to the warrior.

Deekin gave Valen a decidedly sceptical look.

"Boss sure?"

Jen nodded. "Yes." She then beckoned to Valen, indicating that she wanted to speak to him, but his attention was fixed over the edge of the falls, near the base of the cliff.

When tapping him on the shoulder yielded no response, Jen frowned.

"Hey!! Valen!" she yelled, hoping to attract his attention. "Deekin is…"

Her sentence was cut off as the warrior leapt backwards, grabbing her as he went, near throwing her against the back wall.

As Jen felt a jagged piece of rock grind against her spine through her armour, she yelped involuntarily, causing Deekin to leap up from his huddled position by the boulder.

"Why the hell did you do that?!" she exclaimed, clouting Valen on the arm impulsively and rubbing her back.

Ignoring that she had just hit him, Valen held a gloved finger to his lips for a second, and then dropping to a crawl, slithered on his belly to the edge of the ledge and peered over it, his features fiercely intent as if he was scanning for something.

Now feeling more than a little alarmed, Jen gestured for Deekin to stay put, dropped into a crouch and carefully made her way to the warrior's side, trying to ignore the chill as the icy water from the falls seeped into the joints of her armour and attempted to figure out what had he had spotted. Valen did not acknowledge her arrival at his side and continued to scan the area near the plunge pool of the waterfall.

"There!" the warrior hissed all of a sudden and grabbed Jen by the back of her neck, dragging her face so close next to his that their cheeks touched, forcing her to sight along his outstretched arm. "Movement!"

Shocked at first at being seized in such an intimate way, Jen's first instinct was to pull back; she sublimated this impulse however, and focused her attention upon the point the warrior was pointing at. For a long moment she saw nothing, but just as she was about to give up, the shadows seemed to shift on their own and the slightest of movements caught her eye; something was indeed down there…

"You see it too," breathed Valen, remaining as still the rock he was laying on.

Jen nodded imperceptibly. "Drow?"

"Valen shook his head. "No. Too big. Moves wrong, too."

Jen squinted, trying to relocate the mystery creature. Again, she wondered if her eyes had been playing tricks on her, but just as suddenly as before, something indistinct but definitely larger than a drow shifted jerkily in the shadows.

Only the softest whisper of movement behind the two prone adventurers heralded the arrival of Nathyrra as she joined them on the ledge.

"I take it you've seen it too," she said as quietly as possible as she joined them in their observations. "The others have gone ahead to assess the situation."

"Could it just be something harmless coming to get a drink?" asked Jen.

Nathyrra shook her head. "I doubt it. Even if it isn't here to hunt us specifically, it'll be dangerous; inhabitants of the Underdark invariably are."

"But we could still just avoid it, couldn't we? Why go looking for a fight?"

"Because whatever it is, it's setting up an ambush," replied Valen. "It knows we're here. And that can only mean one thing..."

"…it's looking to attack us, it's probably got friends and it's been observing us," finished Nathyrra.

That little revelation made Jen stare from the drow to the warrior and back again.

"Something has been watching us? From where?!" The half elf tried to keep a note of panic from creeping into her voice, but it was hard.

"Who knows? It's supremely camouflaged – hence the reason we've only just noticed it," replied Valen. He then turned his attention to Nathyrra. "Any guesses?"

"Umberhulk," answered the drow. "They've been seen around here before; they take advantage of the terrain for ambush."

To this, Valen nodded. "Makes sense. They probably had a scout somewhere… just our luck." He slithered back from the edge and raised himself up to a crouch, unsheathing his weapon from its leather harness and testing its weight in his hands. "I say we meet them full on."

Nathyrra snorted. "That's your strategy for everything, Valen."

The warrior smiled grimly. "It's a strategy that gets results." With that, he near launched himself off the edge of the precipice.

"Wait!" Jen tried to halt the warrior's charge, failing miserably as she watched him with mounting incredulity has he jumped nimbly from rock ledge to rock ledge with a grace that belied his size. "What in the hells is an umberhulk?"

It was Nathyrra's turn to stand and leap from the ledge.

"An enemy," she replied, an almost mischievous grin upon her face. "Hit hard, hit true, and one piece of advice – don't look into its eyes!"

And with that, she disappeared from view.

"Damn!" exclaimed Jen as she quickly stood up and made her way back to Deekin. "Deek – there's something down by the plunge pool. Something nasty. Be prepared and keep yourself safe, okay?"

Wide eyed, the little kobold nodded but said nothing.

With a nod, Jen left her stalwart companion and went back to the edge of the ledge, drawing Enserric as she went.

"Battle?" asked the sword, sensing the tension that ran through her body.

"Battle," answered the half elf grimly.

Upon hearing a roar that could only have come from Valen above the crashing concerto of the waterfall, Jen reached inside to where her arcane self dwelt and pulled forth a spell that would allow her to leap from the cliff side and float to the cavern floor as gently as a feather. Even with this knowledge, however, she still hesitated before she took the final plunge; she still did not completely trust her seemingly innate magical abilities even after all this time, probably because she still didn't completely understand them.

"What are you hesitating for?" Enserric cried in her head. "Quickly! Before they are all gone!"

Throwing all of its will at Jen, the half elf suddenly found herself leaping in mid air. For a moment she was terrified, until she muttered the arcane words that activated the spell.

"Austrat hysvear…"

After the words had left her lips, she felt the usual feeling of dread as she wondered whether the spell has indeed worked; thankfully the spell caught hold and the inexorable draw of gravity suddenly became much less - rather than drop like a stone, Jen floated slowly and harmlessly down to the floor of the cavern below, her sword leading.

o0o

Landing lightly near the edge of the plunge pool, Jen had to immediately bring Enserric up to protect her face as a huge, insect-like appendage whipped out from the shadows and slashed at her. With a grunt of surprise, she whirled around to face whatever had been laying in wait for her, cursing herself that she had not thought to at least attempt to turn herself invisible. The creature that lunged again at her was a monstrosity indeed; a good half her height again taller than she was, heavily built and looking like a curious – and hideous – hybrid of ape and insect with a sturdy looking carapace that Jen knew straight away she wouldn't be able to pierce with her sword, meaning that she would have to look for chinks in its natural armour if she wanted to bring it down as quickly as possible.

With Enserric howling battle cries in her head that she knew she would soon be echoing out loud, the half elf parried another shell-encased limb, and with a curious leaping pirouette, Jen slashed across the creature's front, using her own body weight and momentum to add power to the attack, hoping that even if the metal would not bite, some of Enserric's enchantments would.

To her dismay, but not to her surprise, the umberhulk backed up slightly but did not seem to be harmed. Dodging another incoming attack, Jen kept her weight upon the balls of her feet, trying desperately to think of a strategy that she could employ against such a creature; quite a feat in itself with her sword yelling bloodthirsty taunts at her enemy from within the confines of her mind in between wondering vaguely where the others might be.

A slashing pain to her left arm brought the half elf out of the curious trance she had almost found herself in, bringing her back down to earth with a bump; this was no time for thinking things through, but for action.

Tucking Enserric safely underneath her, Jen dove into a roll that would bring her in between the umberhulk and the cliff wall; a move that, upon the surface, seemed foolish, and probably would turn out to be if her ill-conceived plan failed. The roll brought a gasp to her lips as she landed upon her slashed left arm, but rather than distracting her, the pain only causing her to focus even more. Finding her feet once again, the half elf then jumped up, and using the wall as leverage to gain height, kicked off savagely, aiming for the broad expanse of carapace that made up the umberhulk's back.

With one arm outstretched, the rogue scrabbled slightly to catch the lip of the monstrous creature's shell, screaming a she did as a blast of pain ripped up her left arm from the wound she had already received, nearly making her let go. However, be it luck, skill or a curious mixture of the two, Jen managed to keep hold of the umberhulk, and dragged herself forward to plunge Enserric as deeply as she could into the soft flesh situated in the joint where the monster's head connected to its shoulders.

All of a sudden, a hot, pleasurable fire coursed up Jen's arms as Enserric fed upon the umberhulk's life, causing her to laugh as she felt the wound upon her shoulder begin to knit together and heal. With a screech, the insect-like creature reared, throwing it's heavily clawed forearms into the air, knocking Jen from her precarious position upon its back. Landing heavily, the half elf had to roll desperately to one side of avoid the counterattack of smashing claws which, much to her consternation, bit easily into the rock of the cavern floor as if it were nothing but loose soil. Finding her feet again, it was the rogue's turn to screech as the umberhulk charged and tackled her painfully into the cliff wall, using its strength and body weight to crush her against the rock, feeling the red hot, sickening snap of her ribs as it did so.

Fearing that this time she had bitten off rather more than she could chew and desperately fighting off the welcoming arms of unconsciousness, Jen suddenly heard a roar and a massive, armour clad form seemingly constructed from pure rage exploded from above, throwing itself with wild abandonment upon the creature, pummelling it repeatedly with a weapon constructed from a wild tangle of chains and heavy orbs carved from cold black bone, causing the umberhulk to back away from her, allowing her to sink to the floor and attempt to clear the little black and purple spots of hypoxia that danced in front of her eyes

If Jen had thought Valen frightening before, it was nothing compared to the spectacle in front of her. She had seen barbarian rages in the past, but they seemed like mild fits of annoyance compared to the red-hot fury that the horned warrior attacked with. Clutching her ribs momentarily and gritting her teeth against the pain Jen, raised her arms shakily above her head, calling deep within herself to the well of magical fire she had stored there. Upon hearing another stomach-churning crack and resulting shout of exaltation from Valen, the rogue guessed that the fighter had finally pummelled the umberhulk enough for its carapace to finally give way: _Good_, thought Jen as she felt arcane power rise from her deep within her and flow almost seductively up her arms to her hands which she then held out wide and, after shouting the command word, brought together in an immense, ear-splitting clap above her head before literally hurling the power out of the palms of her hands at her enemy.

Electrical fire spat from her hands and arced dangerously close to Valen as Jen fought to maintain control of the energy, directing it towards her massive foe. Finally, the spell exploded against the side of the umberhulk, burying itself into the cracks of its shell, causing the monster to scream; an unearthly, foul noise that reverberated around her skull painfully as the stench of cooked flesh sought out her nostrils. Grimacing, the half elf watched the umberhulk stagger sideways under her magical onslaught and, bringing her arms up again, she readied herself to call another volley, but before she could prime the attack, Valen brought his flail viciously down upon the umberhulk's head, splitting its exoskeleton and staving in its brains in one foul swoop. With a colossal shudder, the creature fell heavily forwards as Valen ripped his weapon from its head, only to smack it down again with a wet thud, ensuring that the monster was indeed dead. This time he had slightly more trouble in extricating his weapon from the cavity he had caused, and the force he employed in retrieving his weapon caused lumps of ichor and brain matter to be wrenched free from the creature's skull, splattering over himself and Jen with a nauseating squelch. Recoiling slightly in disgust at being covered in umberhulk viscera, Jen quickly retrieved Enserric from where she had dropped him at her feet and ran to where a triumphantly grinning Valen was disentangling himself from the remains of the monster. After clapping Jen on the shoulder and making her wince at the resulting pain from her half healed wounds and crushed ribs, Valen dashed forward with a yell.

"One down - four to go!"


	8. The Battle Continues

Chapter Eight – The Battle Continues

_Well, it's been a while... sorry 'bout that. Summer holiday ended and so I had to go back to work, which meant time for writing was severely cut short. Now I've got a handle on my timetable, I should have more time to write... hopefully, anyway! _

_Also – does anyone have a link to a decent drow translator? The House Maerdyn one has gone (for some reason) and so I'm a bit screwed – until I find a new one, there won't be any large sections of drow._

Unable to believe what Valen had just told her, Jen tried to keep up with the warrior, one arm wrapped protectively around her crushed ribs. Each stride that she took caused the splintered ends of bone to grind agonisingly together, and so she took a short moment to fumble within her belt pouch and pull out a healing potion. Using her teeth to remove the cork from the neck of the glass vial, she spat it out and gulped down the contents in one swallow, grimacing slightly at the almost metallic, not-quite-pleasant taste; it was a small price to pay, however, as the pain in her chest resided and she found running easier.

The umberhulk that had pounced upon her had obviously been the one she and Valen had spotted; the other four were a little way off, and now that she didn't have pain to concentrate upon, she could hear the sounds of fighting taking place above the roar of the waterfall, complete with the shadowy flicker of movement projected upon the cavern's walls.

Rounding the ridge that had separated the scout umberhulk that had ambushed Jen from the others of its kind, the half elf slowed to a halt, determined to be a little more prepared for this engagement. It seemed, however, that Valen had no intention of doing any such thing; with growling roar, he hefted his flail and charged headlong into the fray, his arrival at the battle heralded with sickening cracks and the occasional strange, unpleasant scream that the monsters uttered when something vital had been struck.

Holding her arms out in front of her, Jen invoked a spell of invisibility, and after muttering the arcane syllables to herself, ran her hands down the sides of her body, the familiar tingle informing her that the spell had taken hold. Unsheathing Enserric once more, she followed Valen's lead and quickly made her way towards where the rest of the umberhulks were being dealt with.

o0o

As it turned out, the four remaining umberhulks had buried themselves into the cliff side and had hidden behind a thin veneer of rock that they had subsequently burst out of as soon as Tsabandiir and Rizonym had touched the cavern floor. It hadn't been quite the ambush the insect-like creatures had been expecting, however; both drow had spotted the scout and therefore knew that there would be more laying in wait for them, and had decided to bring the fight to them rather than be surprised once they had engaged the lone umberhulk by the plunge pool.

Tsabandiir's first action had been to invoke the favour of his much-maligned but – in the drow male's opinion, anyway – generous god and had prayed quickly to make himself as agile and as indistinct as a shadow; considering that it was for the good of the mission his Lord had charged him with, the prayer was quickly granted, and Tsabandiir disappeared from view. None of this disturbed Rizonym; he had seen his friend and now bed-mate invoke a similar spell hundreds of times before, and knew that even though Tsabandiir could easily use his god-given abilities to strike anyone down as he pleased, he at least was safe.

Next to arrive had been Szinaufein and Xen'shai; the young ranger quickly unsheathing his matched pair of shortswords and making his way nimbly into a position where he could aid the tall, scarred drow fighter in bringing one of the umberhulks down quickly, thus improving their chances of ending the fight with as little casualties on their side as possible, whilst the Deathsinger drew out an odd looking wind instrument from this belt pouch and began to play a strange, haunting dirge whose aim was to fill his enemies with dread but bolster his allies into deadly synchronicity.

Lastly, Jehk'ril floated down from above and hovered over a head's height above the battlefield, an almost serene look of concentration upon his face and, after plunging his hand into his beltpouch and bringing out a small shard of reflective glass, held the mirror aloft and uttered some arcane syllables to enact a glass strike spell, directing it at one of the umberhulks not yet engaged in battle.

All five of the drow were engaged in a furious battle by the time Nathyrra had left Jen, Valen and Deekin up on the ledge and joined them. She knew that she was little help in a frontal assault, and so used the confusion of the battle to her advantage, striking from the shadows using both blade and magic. This tactic, whilst considerably more effective than her simply facing the enemy toe to toe, was still not perfect; the toughened carapaces of the umberhulks meant that she could not simply strike from behind and gain the upper hand – luckily, she had decades of experience in fighting the various denizens of the Underdark and therefore knew that she had to measure each thrust of her rapier carefully to ensure that she found the soft flesh that was located in the few chinks in the umberhulk's natural armour.

From above, she heard Jek'hril swear in drow moments after his spell hit the nearest umberhulk to her; it had shuddered for a moment, but nothing more had happened as it successfully resisted whatever the mage had thrown at it. Obviously deciding to try another tactic, the drow male thrust his hand into his belt pouch once again and muttered some words of power; recognising the spell, Nathyrra knew to ready herself. It was often the tactic of drow magi to throw around large, devastating spells, trusting that the grunts engaged in battle would either evade their effects or that their natural resistance to magic would protect them somewhat; the Matrons didn't care either way as long as the battle was won and the clergy of the Spider Queen was not put in any danger… and even then, that was largely because a male hurting a female in any way wasn't tolerated rather than the clergy having any great affection for each other.

Such were the ways of the drow.

Jehk'ril's spell went off with an almost subsonic boom that was felt rather than heard, and a curious rush of blistering heat and biting cold swept over the battlefield; aided by Xen'shai's dirge, the drow fighting below all rose into the air gracefully, effortlessly avoiding the blast. The umberhulks were not so lucky; one nearest the edge of the fire-and-iceball admixture managed to stumble back and avoid the full brunt of the attack, but the other three screamed in agony as the magical energy both burnt and froze them simultaneously.

Taking advantage of the distraction that the drow mage's spell afforded, the more melee –inclined members of the small band struck as one; Rizonym's greatsword crashing down with such force upon a carapace that now bore icicles as well as scorch marks that it cracked open, allowing Szinaufein the chance the drive both his shortswords into the crevice. The ranger then worked his blades as if they were oversized scissors, wrenching the umberhulk's shell in twain and driving his swords in deeper. With a piercing screech the creature fought desperately to dislodge the drow, but to no avail; uttering a satisfied grunt, Rizonym brought his sword down once again, this time finding the vulnerable spot between the umberhulk's head and shoulders and angled his thrust so that he could slice through the large vein located there. It gave way with a sickening squelch, spraying a garish yellow-green ichor that hit Rizonym squarely in the face; spitting out a mouthful of the foul, pus-like fluid with a look of utter disgust upon his face, the drow warrior wrenched his sword free and brought it down once more. This time, the umberhulk simply slumped to the ground, leaking ichor over the cavern floor, finally dead.

Nodding at a job well done, both drow fighters turned their attention to the remaining three monsters.

o0o

Upon hearing the familiar, low rumble of yet another fireball being let off, Valen steeled himself, trying to clear his head so that the red mist that often descended upon him during battle did not cloud his vision. Once upon a time, he relished losing himself in the heat of a good fight; now, he fought it, frightened that if he did give in completely, he would end up hurting – or worse - one of his allies as well as his enemies.

Glancing backwards for a mere second, the tiefling checked to make sure the half elf was following him, and felt the tiniest spark of relief to see that she was not only following, also but keeping up with only faintest evidence of injury before she seemingly disappeared from view – an invisibilty spell of some kind, he surmised. When the time came he would chastise her for her reckless engagement of the lone umberhulk, but for the meantime he had to admit a certain level of comfort that he derived from the fact that she wasn't afraid to stand upon her own two feet and fight when it was time, even if he had been the one to finish the monster off once and for all.

Rounding the corner, it took the warrior a moment to sort out the lay of the battle; one umberhulk was already down, and by the sheer amount of its vital fluids that were now leaking all over the stony ground, Valen guessed that it was dead. The remaining three were engaged in the deadly yet curiously delicate dance the drow called combat, and even from here, the tiefling could see that the umberhulks stood little chance. Even so, it did not stop him from hefting his flail and charging headlong into the fray, swinging the heavy weapon wildly once he was in striking range.

All of a sudden, to his left, one of the umberhulks screamed as a large artery located under one of its arms seemingly slashed open as of its own accord; a split second later, Jen suddenly appeared, her sword buried deep into the creature's armpit. From above he heard a drow shout a word of warning, but the half elf, not speaking drow, obviously didn't comprehend that the warning was for her until it was too late.

o0o

Jen hadn't forgotten Nathyrra's warning not to look into the umberhulk's eyes, but since the warning had not come with explicit reasons as to why this was the case, the rogue had no comprehension as to why the creature's gaze was so deadly.

She has quietly – but swiftly – crept up towards the umberhulk that Szinaufein was currently engaging; Jen had been confident in Valen's abilities to bring down his chosen mark, and since Rizonym was obviously getting magical aid from someone nearby (since wounds were opening upon the umberhulk's massive frame as if by their own accord), she reasoned that his was well in hand as well. Carefully choosing her time to strike, she had waited until the umberhulk had raised its enormous, ape-like appendages above its insectile head and then had buried a screeching Enserric deep into its soft, fleshy armpit, trusting her sword to seek out something vital and to drink deeply. From the exultant mental shout that her weapon gave then the feeling of red hot fire that coursed up her arm and poured almost seductively through her torso, causing her to close her eyes for a split second and shudder slightly, she guessed that she had been correct to trust it.

However, it had been that split second of inattentiveness that had almost been her undoing.

Opening her eyes, she was immediately caught in a multi-faceted fractal world of kaleidoscopic colour and light. Unable to tear herself away, she felt herself pitching forwards; struggling to maintain her balance, she tried to wrench herself free from the beguiling whirling colours, but too late. She was dimly aware of a shout to her right, but it seemed as if someone had placed a thick muffler around her head, dampening all sound, making her feel as if she were underwater.

Suddenly, something snapped. The kaleidoscope of colours vanished, and the half elf was left feeling disorientated and dizzy. All around her was the smell of death, thick and fluid, the shout of a multitude of voices and the ringing of steel upon shell. Feeling panic well up inside her, Jen looked around herself and found that everything that she once remembered as normal now seemed fuzzy and indistinct, and that all around her, slim shadows flitted with evil, glowing red eyes. Raising her sword, she was aware on an instinctual level that someone was talking to her, but couldn't understand a word of what they said; the language seemed familiar, but at the same time was twisted into something incomprehensible. Lurching to one side, the half elf stumbled and shook her head, trying to clear the curiously thick feeling that resided there. To her alarm, the ground beneath her then seemed to bubble and roil; with a shriek, she jumped back up clumsily and cannoned blindly into something solid. Whirling around wildly, she brought her sword up in front of her and slashed forward, hoping to fend off whatever it was that she had crashed into. Whatever it was then screamed out – satisfied that this was the correct course of action to fight off her unknown assailant, Jen lunged forward again, swinging Enserric madly from side to side without any trace of her former finesse or skill, slashing at anything that came into proximity.

o0o

Nathyrra watched in horror as the umberhulk caught Jen with its gaze; when training, the ability to fight without maintaining eye contact – usually such an important facet of a melee fighter's repertoire when it came to judging an opponents intention – was taught quite early on in a young drow's life. Umberhulks were common enemies in the Underdark, and in the past, many an inexperienced troop had fallen foul of the confusion their gaze managed to instil in its individual members. The drow assassin blamed herself; she should have spent more time explaining the dangers of the Underdark to the surfacer before they had left, but there had been no time.

She watched as if in slow motion as Valen - who had also obviously spotted the half elf's condition – tried to step up and disarm her, only to get slashed across the chest with that cruel sword she called her own. Luckily, the tiefling's armour bore the brunt of the attack, and he only grimaced slightly as he attempted to grab the now panicking half elf's wrists to stop her from attacking further. It was then that the umberhulk decided to strike, having seen two of its main assailants otherwise occupied; luckily Nathyrra was ready, and lunged forwards, measuring her strike carefully to catch the unprotected area between neck and head.

It was a gamble, she knew – although she trusted her rapier and her skills to get through most challenges that the Underdark could throw at her, there was a good chance that the drow's weapon may snap if she angled the thrust incorrectly, or if the creature survived the attack and decided to back off. However, luck seemed to be on her side as Rizonym, who had managed to dispatch the second umberhulk he had been dealing with, came to join her; as her rapier found an artery, his greatsword came crashing down upon its monstrous head. The double assault made the umberhulk come up short and stop before it could launch itself at the struggling half elf and tiefling; with a mere flick of her wrist, Nathyrra then opened the wound in the creature's neck into something that was mortal, and seeing it sway, quickly withdrew her weapon and jumped backwards.

With only one umberhulk left to dispatch, she left that up to the drow veterans and quickly made her way to where Valen was desperately trying to keep hold of Jen without hurting her.

o0o

_One thing was true – the strength of the mad was phenomenal_ mused the detached part of Valen's mind as he tried to wrestle the flailing Jen into submission. He had successfully managed to knock Enserric out of her hand, but that had only meant she was now more determined to kick, bite and scratch than she had before; he could parry a weapon with his own without harming the half elf, but without that option, he ran the real risk of unintentionally hurting her. Still, she was small – over a good foot shorter than he and weighing probably less than half he did, so after grabbing her wrists, he deftly span her around and gathered her against his chest so he could hold her until the confusion passed.

Well, that had been the plan, anyway.

Upon seeing his friend being seemingly attacked by a supposed ally, Deekin had come to Jen's rescue. With a screech of "Boss!", the little kobold had let loose a crossbow bolt that found a home in the tiefling's neck. Although the attack was no more than a scratch in the grand scheme of things, it made the warrior shout out in surprise, causing Jen to struggle anew and kick our backwards, catching his knee painfully. The kobold bard then made the distinctive hand gestures that precluded a spell, making a now rather more panicked Valen shout out again and drag the still struggling Jen over towards him.

"Stop! For the love of… Deekin! STOP! I'm not attacking!" The tiefling risked raising one hand to punctuate his plea – a risk that Jen, even in her confused state, took advantage of.

Twisting herself so that she could swing herself around, the half elf screeched an almost unintelligible string of arcane words before slapping her now free hand upon the warriors face, discharging a Shocking Grasp spell of considerable magnitude. With a scream of his own, Valen let go of Jen as if bitten; the half elf hit the ground hard before jumping up and running away into the shadows, Deekin following her. Clutching his face, the tiefling shouted after her, demanding that she stopped, but it was no use – before he could stop her, and before Nathyrra could reach them, Jen had disappeared.


	9. Lost

Chapter Nine – Lost

_Whirling... falling... bubbling..._

As soon as her unknown assailant had loosened its grip upon her, Jen took advantage of her momentary freedom; delving deep within herself and working entirely upon instinct, she discharged the first close quarters spell she came across. Slapping her hand upon its roiling features as hard as she could, she threw as much of herself as she could into the spell and discharged it with a scream; much to her delight in her confused state, her attacker dropped her like a sack of hot coals, and as soon as she found her legs again, she ran as fast as her disorientated faculties would allow her, away from the horrors of the battle. Distantly, the half elf heard someone calling to her from behind; she slowed momentarily to glance over one shoulder only to see a small, scaled monster scuttling after her, screeching and hissing. Stumbling backwards with a screech of her own, she found her feet again and continued to run, not knowing her destination, only seeking a safe place to hide.

o0o

"Boss! Boss wait! Wait for Deekin!"

Deekin clambered over the many loose rocks that littered the tunnel floor, dodging patches of jagged crystal growth and bulbous, slick-looking fungi. He had lost nearly all sense of direction quite quickly in his mad flight after Jen; his primary concern had been for the half elf and not for himself, and much to his dismay, that had resulted in the little kobold getting essentially lost after only turning a few corners. Slowing to a walk, Deekin shivered slightly and drew his arms around himself; although he had travelled on his own before, he had never been in such an oppressive place as this and for the first time since he had arrived in the Underdark, he actually felt frightened.

Ducking under a fungus-encrusted overhang, Deekin began to quietly hum a tune of his own composition under his breath in a vain attempt to keep his spirits up. He simply had no idea where Jen had gone; she had left little in the way of tracks and her training as a scout meant she was capable of finding places to hide where even the most sharp-eyed of kobold trackers couldn't find her – he should know, since she had managed to infiltrate his small enclave without being spotted. Slinging his little crossbow upon his back so that it nestled snugly next to his lyre, Deekin considered turning back for a moment. It would have been relatively easy for him to try to pick his way back towards the rest of their little party compared to pushing onwards and searching for Jen, but at the same time, a small part of him knew that he had to continue, simply because if anything happened to the rogue, he would never be able to forgive himself. Having made his mind up, the kobold muttered a few arcane words under his rasping breath, choosing spells that would enable him to travel swiftly and invisibly over the rough ground, hopefully lessening his chances of being spotted and consequently increasing his chances of finding the half elven female that he looked up to more than anyone in the world, Deekin took a deep breath to steel himself and continued his search.

o0o

"Which way did she go?" asked Xen'shai urgently, marching up to the rest of the party now that the battle had come to a head and all four umberhulks lay dead at their feet. "What happened?"

Ripping her rapier from the umberhulk that she had only momentarily before slain, Nathyrra ran towards the direction in which Jen had fled with Deekin in tow; risking all, she called out and strained her ears in vain, hoping to hear some kind of reply, even if it was from the kobold bard. Upon hearing nothing, she strode back to the others.

"She's gone. We should be able to track her... hopefully she won't have gone too far." The drow female ran a trembling hand through her snow white hair and spared a glance down to the slumped form of Valen upon the floor.

"He took a Shocking Grasp to the face," Jehk'ril explained, a curious mixture of concern and shrewd surprise upon his face. He knelt down beside the tiefling and attempted to examine the Weapon Master's face; in direct response, Valen slapped his hand away roughly with a low growl. The drow mage pursed his lips as if in thought. "There was much more power in that attack than there should have been..._much_ more power."

"You don't have to tell me," groaned Valen gruffly, gingerly touching his blistered visage before fishing out a healing potion from his beltpouch. "We need to find her before she gets herself into any more trouble."

At that show of concern, Xen'shai gave the Weapons Master a rather cool, measured look.

"And now we show some concern… I would have thought this turn of events might have been to your liking, Errdegah-chath", the Deathsinger murmured in a low voice, his comment obviously for the tiefling's ears only. "Now she is gone..."

Valen silenced the drow with an icy stare.

"Nathyrra and I will go looking for her", he replied, his voice hard. "The rest of you stay here in case she finds her way back."

"Surely it would be wiser if more than two of us went to search, yes?" Xen'shai's voice was like poisonous silk. "Szinaufein – come with me. The rest of you – be on your guard. If the Jallil d' Ssussun should return here of her own accord, keep her safe and send a Message." The drow then looked back to Valen, challenge clearly written upon his face.

Not one to take anything lying down, Valen rose a little unsteadily to his feet and took a step forward so that he towered over the smaller male, using his height and sheer bulk to its greatest intimidating effect. "I don't think you're the one who should be issuing orders, musician", he growled with a snarl, his blistered features making his seem more threatening than usual. Xen'shai, however, had been threatened by far worse apparitions in his time, and so just smiled faintly, shaking his head imperceptibly.

"Now is the time for brains, good Valen, not brawn and a misplaced sense of duty," the Deathsinger replied in a sing-song tone of voice that he usually reserved for the hard-of-thinking. "You know as well as I do that the Underdark is a dangerous place for those of us whom are familiar with it – for one such as Jenalil…" the drow allowed his sentence to trail off with a smug raise of an eyebrow.

"Now is also a time for trust, Deathsinger," Valen glowered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his flail.

"Don't you think it is slightly hypocritical of you to be mentioning trust, tiefling?" Xen'shai sneered back, a light but unmistakeable hint of threat entering into his own voice.

From behind him, the tiefling sensed the other drow begin to close ranks around him and instinctively tensed, ready for an attack.

Seeing the ridiculous amount of male posturing playing out in front of her, Nathyrra rolled her eyes angrily and forcibly stepped up between the blustering males, pushing them apart. At that, both of them snapped their attention to her with scowls of annoyance which they quickly sublimated; although smaller in stature than all of them, they respected the former Red Sister and her formidable skills… and then there was the simple fact that, for the drow any way, some habits died hard, and listening to superior females was the one that died hardest.

"Listen to you two!" she hissed, her tone mirroring her exasperated irritation. "The more you argue, the more danger Jen could be getting herself into!" She punctuated her point by jabbing her finger into both the males' chests, one after the other. "Now if you're both finished playing 'who has the longer blade', I suggest that we stop bickering and work together."

Both the males glanced at each other, open dislike still written upon both of their faces, before they glanced back to the floor, feeling like chastised children. Pushing an errant lock of snowy hair from his face, Xen'shai was the first to recover himself.

"What would you suggest, Jabbress?" he asked obsequiously, inclining his head towards Nathyrra in what the drow female could only gather was mock submissiveness. "How many of us should stay, and how many should go?"

"There will be no argument on the matter; I am going," Valen added, folding his arms over his chest, his stance one of total arrogance and completely at odds with the drow bard's.

"I think that is up to Jabbress Nathyrra," Xen'shai hissed, offering the tiefling a scowl and the assassin an almost obscenely fawning smile.

Growling under her breath, her annoyance piqued once again by Xen'shai and Valen's continued sniping, Nathyrra smiled rather too sweetly, making both the males shift their weight slightly uncomfortably.

"Szinaufein – you are good at tracking. You come with me. Valen – you are to go with Xen'shai." She smiled sweetly again as Valen took a step forward to protest and Xen'shai's eyebrows flew up his forehead in consternation. "Considering you were both so concerned about the welfare of the half elf, I am sure you will compliment each other's skills admirably." She then turned to the others. "Jehk'ril; I suggest you see if you can scry her position. I know these things are hit and miss… but try, anyway."

Jehk'ril offered his brother an amused look and nodded. "If I can locate her, I shall teleport myself to her location and bring her back here. Is that satisfactory?"

Nathyrra nodded. "That would be best. Send a Message if you are successful."

"I shall cast the spell now, Jabbress," the drow mage replied with an inclination on his head, his hand searching in his spell pouch before drawing out a short length of fine copper wire.

Satisfied that Jehk'ril at least was being compliant, Nathyrra turned her attention on to the other drow.

"Rizonym, Tsabandiir – stay with Jehk'ril just in case Jen does make her way back this way. Although I do not doubt Jehk'ril's abilities, I am sure he will feel a lot more confident with a pair of competent blades at his back should Jen find her way back to us with unwanted companions in tow, if you understand my meaning."

The two drow males just nodded, not saying anything, their faces carefully contrived masks.

Nodding in return, Nathyrra then took a deep breath.

"Right… we're organised. Now, that wasn't too hard, was it?" She allowed a slight note of self satisfied scorn to enter her voice, making Valen scowl again. "Let us go."

o0o

It had seemed like an age to Deekin since the battle had ended; for a moment, the little kobold wondered just how long the confusion that the umberhulk had placed Jen under would last and how far he had actually travelled in his search for her before snapping his attention back to the task in hand – looking for clues as to where the half elf might have fled and keeping an ear out for anything that might cause him any danger.

The others might have been surprised at the behaviour of the kobold; rather than his usual dithering, his search was swift and methodical, and as such, he had managed to pick up a few clues – half a boot print here, some crushed fungi there – that indicated he was on the right track. Occasionally he would slow and cock his head to one side, listening, but each time he did this, he was only met with an eerie silence and the occasional drip of water against stone or whirring of wings in the unfathomable black heights above him.

Suddenly, the little kobold heard a small scraping sound to his left, as if someone – or something- was shifting its weight. Trembling, Deekin shrank into once of the many small crevices that dotted the edge of the rocky outcrop that flanked the path he was following and made himself as small as possible; not before time, either, as a large, six limbed cat-like creature with two whip-like tentacles that sprouted from its shoulder blades crept into view. Upon spying the creature, Deekin froze and mentally prepared a confusion spell of his own, hoping that he would not have to engage the beast that stood not ten feet away from him, sniffing the air.

Crouching down, the displacer beast growled, a deep yet strangely resonant sound, before finishing with a small yelp-like yip. Lifting its feline head, the creature surveyed its surroundings before dropping its head once more and began to slink away from Deekin's hiding place. It then became apparent to the kobold that the creature was hunting something; a realisation that made his blood freeze in his veins.

_Please – not Boss…_

It took all of Deekin's willpower not to jump up then and begin his searching anew, his concern for Jen only tempered by the simple fact that he didn't know what the displacer beast was hunting – if it wasn't Jen, then by tackling it he would never find her, probably because he would end up replacing whatever it was hunting as its next meal.

After what seemed an almost glacial period of time, the displacer beast had moved off into the gloom and out of the range of Deekin's sight. He stayed crouched in his rocky sanctuary for a long moment more before cautiously lifting his head and creeping away, always making sure he was within dashing distance of another hiding place just in case the creature decided to come back. It was then that he noticed another clue as to the half elf's whereabouts – a patch of delicate, glowing crystals just above his head had been partially crushed, as if someone had recently scrambled up the face of the outcrop, seeking a place to hide. He guessed that it had been recently, because the crushed section was still giving off some residual luminescence; to his delight, he looked up and could see that whoever had stepped upon them was leaving a small, glittering breadcrumb trail of miniscule crystal splinters as they climbed.

"Boss…" the kobold breathed. "Don't you worry, Boss – Deekin is coming!"

He paused for a moment.

"Well, at least Deekin hopes that it is you, Boss…"

o0o

"If this is going to work, stay out of my way," growled Valen as he and Xen'shai strode down the silent tunnel away from the waterfall and the scene of their previous battle. By way of a response, Xen'shai just rolled his eyes; although he had worked with the irascible tiefling before, it had been under far more favourable conditions, with the Deathsinger bringing up the rear and the Weapon Master leading from the front.

The two of them continued to walk in silence for a short while, both of them listening for any anomalous sounds that might lead to their quarry, but to no avail. They had split from Nathyrra and Szinaufein only a few hundred yards back where the tunnel forked; having found no tangible evidence as to which way Jen had fled, the had decided it was time to part ways – whichever pair found Jen and her indefatigable kobold companion first was to make their way back to Jehk'ril so that he could send a message to the other pair to return.

If they ever found her, that was.

A small, treacherous part of Valen's subconscious was actually secretly hoping that they wouldn't; that things would go back to the way they had once been, with him in charge once again and the Seer's ridiculous prophecy forgotten and buried. He tried to kid himself that this wasn't a selfish desire – that it was simply because he felt he couldn't trust anyone else to protect the Seer and her people other than himself – but deep down he felt a twinge of shame, simply because he knew that wasn't the truth. He was still angry – furious even – that he had been usurped by a mere slip of a girl upon the strength of some asinine prophecy that he didn't even subscribe to – and a mere slip of a girl who had now, in his eyes, fallen at the first hurdle. Yes, she had fought well against the first umberhulk, but in allowing herself to succumb to the gaze of the second… and for him to allow that to happen…. He snorted to himself in derision.

Upon hearing the snort, Xen'shai regarded the tiefling from the corner of his eye. "If we are going to succeed, we need to pool our resources," the drow said eventually, trying to maintain an even, reasonable tone. "Jenalil does not know the terrain - we can use that to our advantage."

Valen said nothing and just snorted again.

Rolling his eyes again, the drow sighed. "It is not the Jallil d'Ssussun's fault, Weapon Master. It doesn't matter how accomplished a warrior you may be – when fighting new foes, there is always a risk. You do not know their attack patterns, nor their favoured tactics…"

"I don't need a lecture from you, musician," interrupted the tiefling. "When you raise a weapon in battle, then speak to me. Until then – hold your tongue."

At that, Xen'shai could not help but bristle slightly.

"Because throwing yourself with wild abandon into any fight regardless of the consequences is _such_ a sound tactic, isn't it?" retorted the Deathsinger, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "In drow battalions, there are over a hundred worthless soldiers to every Deathsinger, you know…"

"A hundred to one? If you were such a valuable resource, don't you think there would be more of you? Just proves how useless you are as far as I am concerned."

Narrowing his eyes, Xen'shai responded by pointedly resting his hand languorously upon the hilt of his rapier, sending out the clear message that even though he knew and respected the tiefling's combat abilities, he wasn't afraid of any challenge that the Weapon Master might throw his way.

"Just because some of us do not unsheathe our weapons at any given opportunity does not mean we are unable to fight, Errdegah-chath. It would be to your advantage to remember that."

It was Valen's turn to bristle as he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Is that a threat, Elghinnsunduiri?"

"No… nothing of the sort, abbil," Xen'shai replied, a small smile touching his obsidian lips as he stopped and turned to face him. "Just a… reminder. Nothing more."

The tiefling regarded the drow for a long moment before shrugging his shoulders and dragging a tense, gauntleted hand through his crimson hair.

"We should get going," he said simply, his voice curiously neutral.

"Asanque, abbil," conceded the Deathsinger.

o0o

Scrambling up the outcrop had proven more difficult that Deekin had imagined it would, with the little kobold losing his footing more than once and sliding painfully back down the rocks, on one occasion scraping his chin painfully upon another little cluster of jagged crystalline growths. Still, it was worth it, he reminded himself: Boss would have done the same for him, and so he had to do the same for Boss. It was simply the way things worked.

Eventually, he reached the top, and peering over the edge, he scanned the area for any tell tale signs that Jen had passed through recently.

Nothing.

Swallowing past a hard lump in his throat, the little kobold clambered dejectedly over the head of the outcrop of igneous rock and began to lower himself over the other side, carefully seeking out footholds with his clawed feet so that he did not fall. All of a sudden, something grasped one of his ankles from below, causing him to squawk out loud and try to yank his foot from its clutches and flail wildly for his crossbow, hoping he could squeeze off a shot before his unknown assailant managed to overpower him.

"Deekin? Is that you?" a bewildered voice asked. Deekin couldn't believe his ears.

"Boss?!" All at once, the little kobold felt relief surge through him, accompanied by a huge urge to cry. "Oh, Boss, Deekin feared great Boss was dead and that Deekin would never be able to forgive himself…"

"Shhhhh… hang on… let's get you down…" Hesitantly, the figure stood up and held it's arms out to Deekin – sure enough, it was Jen, albeit with an unusually hunted, frightened expression upon her face. "Careful… there is a lot of crystal growth on this side… that stuff splinters like hell…"

Carefully, Deekin lowered himself towards Jen, allowing the rogue to all but gather him up in her arms before she lowered him to the floor of what turned out to be a deep fissure within the outcrop.

"I stopped here once the confusion passed," Jen said by way of explanation, her expression sheepish. "It seemed the best defensible position." She held up a shortsword. "I seem to have lost Enserric…" The half elf suddenly lunged forwards and wrapped Deekin in a huge bear hug. "Oh, Deek! I thought that was it! I have no idea where I am… there has been… something, I don't know what, sniffing around… once the confusion passed…" she trailed off and let the kobold go. "What happened? One minute I was fighting with that umberhulk, then everything went weird..."

Deekin looked owlishly up at her, reluctant to tell her that Valen had tried to attack her as soon as he realised she had been incapacitated and that she had fought him back with possibly terminal effect.

"You gots confused by the umberhulk, Deekin thinks…" he began carefully. "Then… lots happened. Lots. One minute, Deekin is fighting, then Deekin sees… Deekin sees…"

"You saw what?" Jen asked, her countenance shrewd. "Come on, Deek, 'fess up."

"Deekin doesn't know why! Deekin doesn't know reason Goatman grabbed Boss and tried to take sword away! Deekin protected Boss, though… Deekin shot him!" Deekin held up his crossbow as if to punctuate his point. "Then Valen turn to Deekin, and Boss… well, Boss slapped hand over Goatmanses face and used Shocking Grasp to get away."

Jen went pale.

"I did what?"

Deekin winced slightly.

"Boss Shocking Grasped Goatman's face."

"Oh, sweet Mystra…" The rogue took a step backwards and leant against the walls of the fissure, closing her eyes. "Did I hurt anyone else?"

"No."

"Well, I suppose I should consider myself blessed for small mercies. At least out of everyone, Valen is the one most likely to survive such a thing." She looked back to Deekin. "He did, didn't he? Survive, that is?"

Deekin shrugged his shoulders again. "Maybe. Deekin not see. Deekin more interested in Boss at that point."

Jen nodded and, stretching out one hand, patted Deekin affectionately upon his shoulder. "Thanks for looking out for me, Deekin. Yet again, I owe you one."

The kobold's scales flushed a little in pleasure. "Anything for Boss!" he croaked happily. Jen smiled weakly at him before drawing herself up and looking into the distance.

"Well, we're not going to be able to do much here…that outcrop is too steep and fissile to climb up, so I guess we had better find another way back." She looked back to Deekin. "You, uh, got any clues as to which way we need to go?"

Deekin grinned.

"Don'ts you worry, Boss – Deekin will help find the way. Now we's together again, everything will be fine!"

At the kobold's unrelenting optimism, the half elf could do nothing but smile.

"I hope you're right, Deek – I really do…"


	10. Tensions

_I'm kind of on a roll right now… (pats muse on the head and feeds it a cookie)_

Chapter Ten – Tensions

"Any sign?"

Nathyrra's concern threatened to swallow her as Szinaufein looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

"None, Nathyrra… I fear we have taken the wrong fork. I haven't found any trace of either of them. I am sorry."

The young drow looked so dejected at having failed her, Nathyrra couldn't help but emulate the Seer by reaching out and touching him briefly on the shoulder; a touch that, to her dismay, he instinctively shrank back from before offering her a nervous smile. Shaking her head that such an innocent gesture of comfort could still be misconstrued in such a way even after all the Seer had told and taught them, the assassin sighed.

"We'll give it a little longer… if there is still nothing, we'll head back to Jehk'ril and the others. We'll just have to hope that Valen and Xen'shai have more luck. If not…" she trailed off, unwilling to even think about that possibility. Without Jen, the Seer's visions couldn't possibly be true, and that was something the former Red Sister didn't particularly want to face at that moment.

Seeing her moment of introspection, Szinaufein nodded slowly before nervously taking his place at her side.

"Jabbress Nathyrra… may I… may I… ask you a… question?"

At first, Nathyrra frowned at the young ranger's hesitancy, but quickly turned it into a smile as not to put him off from asking what was bothering him.

"Of course, Szinaufein," she answered with a certain level of forced joviality. "What would you like to ask?"

The ranger paused for a moment, caught between surprise at being allowed to speak so freely and not knowing exactly how to express his question without causing offence to the powerful female that walked beside him. Eventually he grinned timidly and shrugged his shoulders a little, hoping that the gesture would indicate that he did not want to cause her any insult.

"It is about Mother Seer… why, uh, that is, I do not mean this with any offence… I… it is mere curiosity and you can tell me to hold my tongue at any point, of course…"

"Szinaufein," Nathyrra sighed, rolling her eyes and smiling affectionately at the much younger drow. "I am not about to beat you in the name of the Spider Queen for asking a question. Out with it!"

"Yes, Jabbress!" the ranger replied, his anxiousness seemingly rather perversely overcome by her forthright manner. "Why… uh… why are you so sure that Mother Seer is correct in her visions?"

For a moment, Nathyrra was struck dumb.

"I, err, I… just do," she replied eventually, knowing that her answer was poor at best. She turned her face away from Szinaufein so that he would not be able to see the conflict that battled there. "She has not given me any reason to doubt her."

"Valen is not so sure…" the young drow continued hesitantly.

"Valen is simply sore that he has been usurped in some way… in his eyes, anyway. That is all," chuckled the assassin good naturedly, glad to talk about the tiefling rather than herself at that particular point. "He is a good warrior and an excellent Commander, but he lacks foresight when it comes to seeing the whole picture."

Szinaufein nodded thoughtfully.

"So you do believe that Mother Seer's visions are correct and that Jenalil is indeed the one who will lead us to victory over the Valsharess?"

Nathyrra looked back over at the ranger and locked his eyes with hers.

"Yes, I do. Do you not?"

It was Szinaufein's turn to look away and pause.

"I… I do not know," he answered eventually. "I want it to be true, but she is so… young. She seems only a little more experienced than I am, and I know that I could not defeat the Valsharess with an entire army at my back, let alone on my own."

Nathyrra sighed and the two drow walked a few more paces in silence, both lost in their own thoughts before the assassin looked back over to the ranger.

"I know what you mean," Nathyrra answered eventually, her tone heavy. "The way Mother Seer spoke about her… I was expecting a great surfacer champion to arrive; one with decades of experience under her belt who would come and sweep our enemies from the map with a simple flick of her sword..… but instead, we have Jenalil." She paused for a moment, unsure of how to express her concerns and doubts… or indeed, even if she should to someone who, at the end of the day, was still a virtual stranger to her.

Seeing the conflict that battled across the female's face, Szinaufein studied his surroundings for a moment before hesitantly speaking up.

"I was in my last year of our city's Melee-Magthere when the army of the Valsharess arrived," he began, his voice soft. "Cheth Rrhinn was one of the first cities to be overrun. The Valsharess had sent an envoy ahead to demand that we all pledge fealty to her, but none of the Matron Mothers believed her… they all just thought her another upstart in need of a good lesson. It wasn't until she arrived at the gates with her army in tow that anyone thought to possibly take her seriously." The young drow hung is head for a moment, making Nathyrra feel a little uncomfortable. She remembered Cheth Rrhinn only too well…

"We were ordered to defend the city to our last breath, but in our arrogance, we were woefully unprepared. The Valsharess already had scores of allies: drow, duergar, a few illithid plus a multitude of summoned planars… we didn't stand a chance." He sighed. "We still fought, though, even though we all realised pretty quickly it was essentially futile." He looked up and gazed into the distance. "I lost a great many friends that day…"

Upon seeing the conflict of wistful memory and deep pain etched upon the young drow's face, Nathyrra had to look away and battle with her own emotions. She had been there, at that time a staunch supporter of the Valsharess; for a brief moment, she wondered how many of Szinaufein's friends had died at her hands.

"I… I am sorry for your loss," she near-whispered in return, an uncharacteristic lump welling in her throat at the memory and realisation, threatening to choke her.

Szinaufein just shook his head.

"Why are you apologising? Looking back, they weren't really my friends… just allies and people who weren't out to kill me as soon as look at me. Anyway, it's not your fault." Before Nathyrra could rejoin, he held up a deceptively delicate hand, forestalling her. "I know enough of your history, Nathyrra; you were once a Red Sister, and that means you were probably there at Cheth Rrhinn." He looked over at her, a small smile upon his face. "I don't blame you. You were doing exactly the same as the rest of us: simply following orders." He paused again. "Funny how things turn out, isn't it?"

Nathyrra looked confused. "Funny? How? I don't understand?"

"We were once on opposite sides of a battlefield… now we fight together." At his odd intonation, Nathyrra couldn't help but glance over at the ranger, but his face was once again as unreadable as a mask.

"Yes… we do," she replied a little awkwardly, unsure of exactly what he wanted her to say. "I… I guess Mother Seer has helped us all in some way."

Szinaufein just nodded thoughtfully.

"And now Mother Seer has brought us the Jallil d'Ssussun," he said after a long pause.

"Yes… she has." Nathyrra's brows creased a little in consternation as she tried to figure out exactly where the young male was going with his train of thought.

"And that is why I believe. If Mother Seer can bring deadly enemies together to fight side by side, then anything is possible."

The conviction is Szinaufein's voice made Nathyrra stop in her tracks and regard him incredulously; never before had she heard any of the drow outside of Eilistraee's followers speak of the Seer in such an earnest way. At her expression of surprise, Szinaufein's face broke into a grin before he gave her slightly roguish, decidedly conspiratorial wink.

"Has it ever occurred to you that Jenalil is not actually a 'saviour', and that she simply may be the catalyst that unites us all… and that we may all be saviours in our own way just by working with her?"

Surprised by his logic, the female drow just shook her head dumbly and shrugged her shoulders whilst she battled with the realisation that the young male was far more intelligent and perceptive than she ever gave him credit.

"Food for thought," Szinaufein continued, his grin still firmly in place at her confusion. "Nothing more." He then glanced up the tunnel they were travelling along. "Shall we continue, or shall we turn back?"

Nathyrra paused thoughtfully.

"Let us continue a little further. Just in case."

To that, Szinaufein smiled.

"Agreed. Just in case…"

o0o

"Someone definitely passed through here recently; look at the edge of this patch of fungi. I think we're on the right track."

Valen straightened up, dusting his hands on his thighs whilst Xen'shai stroked his chin with one long ebon finger thoughtfully.

"She managed to open quite a distance between us in that short amount of time, didn't she?" commented the Deathsinger. "It proves she is resourceful, even under the effects of the confusion."

At Xen'shai's observation, the tiefling Weapon Master said nothing and just continued to scan the ground sullenly for any more evidence of Jen's passing.

_All your fault…_

Closing his eyes momentarily, Valen willed the tiny, treacherous part of his mind that continued to taunt him that if only they had followed the half elf as soon as she had run off rather than arguing with the drow, she wouldn't have been able to set up such a distance between them all in the first place to shut up and leave him be. However, it was nothing compared to the even smaller, even more secret voice that kept trying to tempt him into giving up the search all together and returning to Lith My'athar to take up his rightful position as Commander again…

Straightening himself up, the tiefling scowled and without saying a word, marched purposefully forward. With a long suffering sigh, Xen'shai passed a hand over his face in an attempt at sublimating his own irritation with the temperamental Weapon Master and followed him.

"The fungi was still secreting fluid – I suppose that is a good thing. Means she did not pass through here long ago," the Deathsinger commented in an effort to make small talk.

Valen simply grunted in reply.

"If indeed it was her that crushed the fungi in the first place. I am only guessing it was her because it would be highly unlikely for a drow to leave such a clear mark as to their passing."

Valen grunted again.

"Oh, this is why I am so ecstatic to be your partner in this search," Xen'shai sighed sarcastically. "You're such a wonderful conversationalist, aren't you? So full of the joys of life… please, Weapon Master, regale me with yet another tale of great cheer! Or are you all out of inarticulate grunts and snappish threats today?"

Valen felt his hackles rise instinctively, but struggled to keep his temper under control. He knew the Deathsinger was needling him, and was determined not to give him what he wanted. Realising that he wasn't going to get a rise out of the tiefling that easily, the drow tried another tactic.

"We're going to an awful lot of trouble to look for this female," he commented, his light tone contradicted directly by the decidedly wicked smile that crossed his ebon face. "I wonder exactly how grateful she will be when we find her…"

The drow's smile deepened as he watched the Weapon Master stiffen slightly.

_Ahh… by chance, was that a nerve...?_

"Maybe this little excursion should take us a little longer than expected, hmmm?" The Deathsinger's voice was now softly beguiling as he leaned in closer to the tiefling, a conspiratorial look upon his face. "Give the jallil a chance to pay her, uh, shall we say… respects?" He waved a hand airily. "It is the least she could do for us, considering the trouble she has caused us… pay her dues, so to speak." The drow then allowed himself a cruel chuckle as he watched Valen tense up further. "Lord knows, you could do with some kind of relaxation…"

Valen's gauntleted hand shot out as fast as a striking snake and grasped Xen'shai by the throat before slamming him against the nearest rocky wall, knocking the breath out of the surprised Deathsinger for a moment. Snarling, the tielfing then pulled the drow's face close to his so that their noses almost touched, breathing heavily.

"If you DARE insinuate that again, I will castrate you myself. _Do I make myself clear?!_"

At first, Valen witnessed probably the first instance of open shock the Deathsinger had ever displayed; this was, however, quickly buried under a disdainful sneer that promised nothing less than murder.

"I suggest you unhand me, klu'chud e'trit," he snarled back, mustering as much menace as he could through his constricted throat. "Unless you wish the tale of your miserable existence to end here, of course."

Still snarling, Valen felt the unmistakeable prick of a dagger against his stomach through the chinks of the chainmail he wore under his breastplate; for a split second, he considered just ramming the drow as hard as he could against the wall again and breaking his back, but the words of the Seer and their last meeting swam to the forefront of his mind through his rage.

_We need all of you to succeed…_

Growling to himself, the tall warrior lowered the Deathsinger reluctantly to the floor and snatched his hand back from around his throat. Gasping a little, Xen'shai rubbed his neck, gingerly feeling for the beginnings of the inevitable bruises he would soon carry with one hand, and sheathing his dagger with the other. For a long moment, the two males simply eyed each other, each with naked hostility written openly upon their faces as they both thought through their respective choices on how to end this situation. It was Xen'shai who straightened up first, smoothing his features from a snarl back to his facade of faint amusement as he made a show of adjusting the bracers that adorned his forearms.

Still watching the drow warily, Valen slowly allowed some of the white-hot fury he was still experiencing to slip away, back to the carefully constructed prison he held deep within himself and threw the gates of sheer willpower back up, locking his anger up once again. Once he was sure he was successful, he took a deep breath and stretched his neck until it cracked, easing the tension that had built there. He still regarded the Deathsinger coldly, but at least he could think straight now without the obscuring red mist that had clouded his judgement before.

"It was simply a test, Errdegah-chath," Xen'shai said, a hint of smugness jarring horribly with the overall reconciliatory tone to his voice . "I would never advocate harm towards the Jallil d'Ssussun." He smiled slightly condescendingly. "In a way, I am… comforted that you feel so strong about her protection. To have such a strong warrior at her back…" He lifted a silvery eyebrow. Valen just snorted in reply; he knew that the Deathsinger was playing him for a fool, but what kind of fool, he wasn't quite so sure.

The tension was broken almost immediately by a distant scream. Both males snapped their heads around to the direction in which it came from, and after glancing in each other's direction and without another word, sped off into the darkness.

o0o

"What in the Hells was _that_?!" Jen breathed, ducking behind a large, crystal studded rock upon hearing the unearthly scream from up ahead.

Deekin regarded her with large, reptilian eyes, bewilderment and fear etched clearly into them.

"Deekin doesn't know… not sound like person, though," he whispered back, reaching behind him for his crossbow and sliding a bolt into the groove atop the small weapon.

Jen simply nodded in reply, swallowing hard and unsheathing the heavily enchanted shortsword she carried as her second weapon. For a split second, she wished fervently that she had Enserric with her; as much as the sword annoyed her with its constant chatter, its confidence in her abilities to defeat any enemy they came across was a comfort she could sorely have done with at that moment. Straining her ears, the half elf tried to listen for any signs of movement; upon hearing none, she tapped Deekin upon his shoulder and spoke to him in a low whisper.

"You stay here – I'm going on ahead to see what's going on. Do. Not. Follow. Me. Understand?" She punctuated her point by grasping the kobold lightly by the chin, making him look directly into her eyes.

"But what is Boss…" Deekin began, his eyes even huger than before.

"No, Deekin. I don't want you following me. I'll give you the usual signal when and if I want you to meet up with me. All right?"

Deekin shook his chin from her grasp and looked at the floor.

"Deekin – promise me…" Jen near pleaded, allowing a slight hint of warning to enter her voice.

Shrugging his thin shoulders, the kobold sighed. "Okay, Boss. Deekin promises. Only come when bird call given. Deekin understands." Looking dejected, he then looked around himself; spotting a small crevice in which he could hide himself, he pointed to it. "Deekin hide there. Is okay with Boss?"

Jen nodded. "Yes, that's fine. Stay in there until I either come back for you, or you hear the signal." She patted Deekin on his shoulder again and offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before watching the little kobold secrete himself into his hiding place. Satisfied that he was completely hidden, Jen then closed her eyes briefly, searching within herself for a spell that might aid her; deciding to forgo a simple invisibility spell, she chose a more camouflaging spell that would enable her to meld directly with her surroundings, meaning that if she did get into any trouble, she could attack without having to worry too much about the reappearance factor.

Staying low, the half elf called upon all of her resources and focused solely upon the task in hand. Now she was in her element; no longer the slightly awkward, unsure young woman of before, she was now the Scout, creeping silently along the edge of the tunnel, utilising the broken rocks and stands of large fungal growth to her advantage. She took her time, pausing every so often to cock her head and listen intently; this had been a tactic she had learnt when she had trained – and later, excelled – as a scout for the local militia, a tactic that she had further honed during her previous adventures, and it was a tactic that served her well now as a figure walked carefully into view.

At first, the half elf thought it might have been one of her own party, but caution overrode her desire to reveal herself just in case the figure did not turn out to be one of her companions. It was an instinct that served her well, for as the figure crept closer, it became quickly apparent that Jen did not know this drow. Slowly, she crouched, her eyes never leaving the skulking form of the drow, and brought her shortsword to bear in front of her, readying herself just in case she had to strike. As the drow drew closer to her position, she could see that she was a female and that she wore close fitting black and red leather armour complete with the stylised depiction of an arachnid embroidered on to the breast and back of it. Clarification then hit Jen like a thunderbolt; this was one of the followers of the Valsharess – one of the Red Sisters that the Seer had mentioned the first time they had spoken.

Fear blossomed in Jen's breast, causing her heart to race. She fought desperately with an almost overwhelming urge to turn and run, bullying herself into continuing to breathe lightly and steadily. Where there was one, the half elf did not doubt there were more… glancing around herself, she couldn't see any evidence, but that didn't necessarily mean this female was actually alone. On the other hand, if this female had managed to gather intelligence about her little party and was currently on her way back with her report…

It was a risk Jen simply could not afford to take.

Blinking rapidly, the rogue willed her heart to slow as much as possible and concentrated. The drow had now drawn level with her; as far as Jen was concerned, it was a miracle that the other female had not spotted her in her hiding place simply through hearing the thudding of her heart. Suddenly, the drow straightened up and snapped her head in Jen's direction; the half elf froze, not even daring to blink. From above her, an unseen bat sculled past, its wings sounding like sails snapping in a high wind compared to the silence of before. Seemingly satisfied that it had been the bat she had heard, the drow nodded to herself and then continued to prowl forwards until she had passed Jen.

Silently, Jen rose from her crouch and gingerly took a noiseless step forward, pausing momentarily to make sure that the drow in front of her had heard nor sensed her movement. Knowing that she had to act swiftly before she was inevitably spotted, the half elf then lunged forwards, and before the drow could even squawk out in surprise, Jen drew her shortsword along the other female's throat. Keeping the blade in place as to reduce blood splatter, she then wrenched the female backwards into a large stand of fungus as the drow gasped and tried to struggle free before finishing the job with a brutal downward strike that finished what her initial cut had started.

Breathing heavily, Jen drew a bloody hand across her brow, causing the world plunge into a crimson mist, making Jen's heart race again until she realised that she had smeared blood across the moonstone circlet. Carefully, the half elf wiped the blood free from the circlet with a trembling finger so that the world returned to it's former silvery form before she knelt beside the still warm body of the drow female and searched through her pockets and belt pouch, inside of which she found a few glass vials of liquid, a couple of rolled up scrolls and a folded piece of parchment. Stuffing these into her own belt pouch, she then noticed a faint glittering upon the drow's finger; lifting her hand up, the half elf saw an ornately set ruby ring. Lifting an eyebrow, Jen slid the trinket off the dead drow's finger and pocketed it, reasoning that if she couldn't use it, she could probably barter it later, and then took up some of the dead fungal matter that littered the ground under the stand of huge mushrooms and covered the body as best as she could so that it was hidden from casual eyes at least.

Taking in a large, shaky breath, the rogue looked carefully around herself, fearing more drow would now pour out of the shadows, but all was still and silent once again. Slowly she rose to her feet and glanced down to the disturbed litter at her feet that only she knew covered the body of the anonymous drow female; for a second, she wondered who she was and whether she would be missed by anyone and felt a slight stab of remorse for the person the corpse had once been, but that quickly passed when the more logical side of the half elf reasserted itself; she was down in the depths of the Underdark, where survival of the fittest was more than just a hackneyed saying and it truly was a case of 'kill or be killed'. With that thought in mind, Jen slunk back into the darkness towards where Deekin was hiding.


	11. … And Found

Chapter 11… And Found

After rounding a few corners and finding nothing, Valen and Xen'shai eventually slowed; there had not been any more screams and so caution now overrode both their initial instincts to head as quickly as they could towards the unearthly sound. In an unspoken agreement between the two males, the Weapon Master hefted his flail and took point whilst the Deathsinger followed, his rapier unsheathed and ready for attack; whatever their differences, when it came to potential battle, they knew the importance of burying any lingering animosity that may hang between them and how to compliment each other's fighting styles admirably.

Tapping the tiefling lightly upon his shoulder, Xen'shai indicated to something shapeless lying in the tunnel up ahead; to this Valen nodded soundlessly, as he too had spotted the dark shape upon the ground. Rather than rushing over, however, both the males dropped into battle stances, each acutely aware that they could be walking into an ambush, and all but crept over to the slumped form; it was only when they drew close enough to be able to distinguish its form that they straightened up and relaxed a little.

"Displacer beast," Valen commented, drawing nearer. "Dead."

Xen'shai approached with a little more caution.

"We assume it is dead, abbil… maybe it would be better to test that theory before we become complacent?"

At that, Valen simply shrugged and aimed a kick at the creature. His foot met it with a dull thud, making the drow wince slightly at his lack of finesse; when the creature did not move, the tiefling turned to face his reluctant companion, a smirk playing upon his lips.

"Like I said: Dead."

"Indeed," deadpanned the Deathsinger. "Bravo."

Crouching down beside the deceased displacer beast, Xen'shai looked over the corpse carefully, trying to discern exactly how it had met its end whilst Valen stood over him, keeping a look out for any potential attack. Upon inspecting the deep but tidy wounds that had been inflicted upon its body, the Deathsinger frowned and then looked up at the tiefling, his expression grave.

"There can be no doubt: these were inflicted by drow-made weapons," he said, indicating to a long slash located along the monster's flank. "The cut is clean, with minimal bruising." He shook his head. "No duergar – or indeed, half elf – did this. This is drow handiwork."

Valen's countenance hardened as he took a long look at the dead displacer beast before staring down the tunnel ahead of them. Although there was nothing to indicate that Jenalil had even been here, this did not mean anything; although it was rare, the distinct lack of a body meant nothing, as the drow did on occasion take prisoners alive, if the purpose suited them.

Noiselessly, the drow stepped up to the tiefling's side; noticing the stony look upon Valen's face, Xen'shai kept his tone light.

"There is no evidence that they took her… indeed that they even met."

The tiefling glanced down at the Deathsinger before continuing to stare into the gloom of the tunnel.

"I am sure there would have been more evidence of a struggle if she had encountered them," Xen'shai continued encouragingly.

At that, Valen just shook his head.

"Well," sighed the Deathsinger "I wouldn't ever have put you down as one to quit quite so easily." He paused for a moment, allowing a reproving hint to enter his voice. "I guess I was wrong on that count." Flicking a length of his silvery hair behind one shoulder in a gesture of causal defiance Xen'shai knelt down to inspect the corpse once more; confident that the warrior wouldn't spot it, he then allowed himself a self indulgent smirk before straightening up again. "Do as you will; I am not leaving this to chance. The Seer has faith in this girl, and I am not about to crawl back to Lith My'athar with my tail between my legs and stories of the prophesied Saviour possibly being captured the Valsharess." With that, he strode forward, a distinct look of challenge upon his face. It worked; upon seeing the challenge, Valen could not help but take the bait, and with an irritated grunt, followed the Deathsinger.

o0o

Jen didn't say a word to Deekin when she went to retrieve him from his hiding place, and after seeing the grim cast of her expression and smelling the unmistakable coppery tang of blood upon her, the kobold decided not to comment, either. Deekin had travelled with the half elven rogue long enough now to recognise that she was no longer his affable 'Boss': she was now the ruthless adventurer of renown, determined to survive, whatever the odds.

Touching a finger to her lips in the universal sign for quiet, Jen led her kobold companion silently back down the high-ceilinged tunnel in which she had just met the drow, barely sparing a glance at the mound of fungal detritus that concealed her erstwhile enemy's anonymous body. She kept to the shadows, as silent as a ghost, leading Deekin away from the site where she had all but assassinated the nameless Red Sister, hoping to put as much distance between herself and the scene, not so much due to any lingering feelings of remorse at what she had been forced to do, but simply due to that fact that if any drow did come looking for their missing party member and inevitably found the corpse, the two of them would be long gone.

Suddenly, the half elf stopped dead in her tracks and held out an open-palmed hand to the kobold, indicating that he should be as still as possible as she craned her head forward, obviously listening intently. From up ahead came the faint yet unmistakable murmur of suppressed voices; upon seeing the look that Jen threw over her shoulder, Deekin scampered silently to hide under a rocky overhang so that he could prepare his spells before Jen skulked forwards in a predatory, almost feline crouch. Cautiously, with her back now flat to the tunnel's glittering walls, the half elf carefully peered around the pitted corner to find two figures standing over a large, dark, slumped form at their feet. Shrinking back instinctively, Jen re-adjusted her grip upon the hilt of her blade and, closing her eyes, quickly ran down her internal list of useful spells, mentally preparing herself to take down the two new interlopers as quickly as possible before they had a chance to alert any more of their kind to her position.

o0o

"The shadows move," Xen'shai murmured, deliberately glancing out of the corner of his eye and keeping his voice low. "There is something up ahead…"

"I know," Valen replied curtly, his own voice barely above a whisper as he brought Devil's Bane to bear in front of him. "I saw…"

o0o

Drawing in a breath and holding it so that she could concentrate more easily, the half elf attuned her ears to nothing but the soft whisper of the footfalls that steadily approached her and tensed, slowly and silently letting the breath she held in go. Finding her centre, she then opened her eyes once more and concentrated fiercely upon the flickering shadows that now heralded the approach of the two forms and waited, sword in hand.

o0o

The two males crept forwards as one: the tiefling champing at the bit in his deep dislike of what he saw as an underhanded way of facing his enemies, the drow more relaxed and completely in his element. Without saying a word, the Deathsinger dropped back half a pace, the verbal elements of a spell already upon his lips as the Weapon Master tightened his grip upon the shaft of his flail, ready to strike at whatever it was that was lying in wait for them.

o0o

Flattening her back against the tunnel wall once again, Jen relied entirely upon her instincts to choose the perfect moment to strike. Bringing her sword to bear, she measured her attack carefully and struck out; leaping forwards, she used the momentum of her body to lend power to the attack and strike both opponents at once as they drew level with her. Almost at once, the larger of the two brought his weapon to bear and deflected her attack, causing the moonstone circlet, slick with the blood of the drow she had already killed, to slip slightly, dimming her world view and all but plunge her into darkness.

o0o

Although they were expecting it, there was still an element of surprise when whatever had been hiding from them burst out from the shadows to the left of the warrior and the bard with a pirouetting leap, sword leading and a long, stone coloured braid trailing. Before the sword could connect, however, Valen raised Devil's Bane with a predatory snarl; the resulting clash of steel against steel rang as clearly as a bell in the once-velvety silence of the tunnel. Working entirely upon instinct, the tiefling then lunged forwards, using his superior size and body weight to propel his smaller assailant backwards against the tunnel wall. After that, he quickly reversed his grip upon his flail and caught its handle under the chin of his attacker and pressed hard against their stone coloured windpipe, hoping to subdue them quickly, only for them to kick out and catch him squarely in the groin with one well-placed foot. Although his armour afforded him some protection, it did not entirely stop the all too familiar stabbing pain from travelling up into his gut, making him wince and gasp in surprise. Rather than letting go, however, he merely hissed a few choice words in Abyssal and leaned hard into the struggling figure in retribution, trying to wrestle them into submission.

o0o

Her eyesight taken away from her, Jen had to use her intuition alone as her mark brought up the hilt of his weapon to deflect her attack, the two blades clashing together with sparks that she could see in the darkness even without the aid of her moonstone. It was becoming quickly apparent that the strength with which her opponent fought vastly outmatched her own, and so rather than even attempting to go head to head with them, she endeavoured to squirm backwards, trying to get free so she could at least adjust the circlet and allow her the blessing of sight once again, meaning she could reassess her options on how to deal with her opponent.

This was simply not to be the case.

With a guttural snarl, her once-victim rammed the handle of his weapon under her chin, nearly choking her, before lifting her bodily and slamming her against the tunnel wall, causing her head to snap back painfully. Desperate now, she kicked out wildly with her feet and felt a certain level of satisfaction when she felt them connect solidly, making her adversary grunt and growl something at her in a language she didn't understand. However, rather than letting her go, her rather crude form of attack only seemed to enrage them further, causing them to try to engulf her and wrestle her into submission. Deciding that although Nathyrra's former advice on keeping quiet in the Underdark was sound for the majority of the time, this was not once of those times at all, and so she found her voice, as breathless as it was, and shrieked a few choice insults of her own in both Common and Elven as she struggled to be free.

o0o

It was the Deathsinger who first realised that there was something gravely wrong with the way the situation was playing out; their assailant, although obviously elven in form, was slightly more heavily built than the drow norm, and fought with a style that spoke of a curious mixture of different influences, none of them drow in origin. Upon reflection later, the dark elf would realise that it was the camouflage spell that she still had in effect that had confused him; before Xen'shai realised it was Jen that they were attacking, Valen was already at the mercy of his ever present battle-lust and had her pinned painfully to the wall by her throat.

"Errdegah-chath!_ VALEN_!" he hissed as loudly as he dared, horror tingeing his voice as it dawned on him that there was a very real possibility the tiefling could quite easily kill the half elf without even realising it. "That is the Jallil D'Ssussun! That is _Jenalil_! Stop!"

Quickly sheathing his own rapier, the drow lunged forward and grabbed the tiefling by his shoulder in an attempt to wrench the tiefling from the half elf, but found it utterly futile; as much as he hated to admit it, the Weapon Master was simply too strong for him. Still he tried, hoping that it would eventually dawn on Valen through his raging fury that he was actually attacking one of his own.

Feeling someone tugging upon his shoulders furiously, Valen's first impression was that somehow the Deathsinger had been overcome and he was being attacked by another hidden assailant from behind; this soon gave way to the suspicion that Xen'shai _was _the other attacker and that he had switched sides, just as the warrior had always secretly feared he would. With a grunt, the much larger tiefling flung an arm backwards, hoping to dislodge the drow; it was then that he realised exactly what the other male was trying to get through to him.

_This wasn't an enemy. This was Jenalil._

Incredulity cut through his red hot fury like a knife comprised entirely of bitingly cold ice, allowing the part of him that was still capable of reason to step back and survey the struggling figure he had pinned to the wall like an oversized moth.

Even though the rich chestnut locks and creamy coloured skin he was used to had been replaced with an almost chameleon-like ability to blend in with the rock behind her, Valen could now clearly see that is was indeed the half elf they had been seeking pinned in front of him. With a strangled cry, he quickly dropped Devil's Bane from her throat and backed away, almost stumbling over the Deathsinger behind him in his hurry to distance himself from his actions, his cerulean eyes huge in their sockets.

_Again…a different place, a different time, but still…again…_

The remembrance caught him totally off guard, meaning he had no way prepare his defences against the memory and resulting stab of shame that always came with it. Another ally, hurt by his hand… by his demon. Completely unable to do anything else, he simply watched as the half elf slid to the floor, trying to catch her breath whilst the Deathsinger knelt in front of her, a look of concern gracing his angular features as he tenderly checked her neck for injury. This in turn sparked a much more recent memory in the tiefling – one of the drow and his rather unsavoury suggestions - which consequently ignited a small but blisteringly hot flame of highly specific hatred that was entirely separate from his usual well of anger deep within his breast, triggering an almost irrational urge to bring Devil's Bane down as hard as he could upon the smugly smiling face of the drow. This urge quickly blossomed into a compulsion when Xen'shai then offered Jen his arm and, after helping her back to her feet, casually slipped the same arm around her waist to steady her – a gesture that the drow was then rewarded with a grateful, almost coy smile.

Mentally shaking himself, Valen realised that both the half elf and drow were now regarding him quizzically; realising that he had been glowering at the pair of them, he smoothed his features into as much of an emotionless mask as possible and stepped towards them – albeit stiffly and with some caution - once more.

o0o

"Valen?!"

As abruptly as the attack had begun, it was finished. Gasping with both a lack of air and sheer incredulity, Jen sank slowly to the ground, her head spinning. Instinctively she looked up even though she could see nothing but blackness, causing her neck to crack painfully; this was nothing compared to the acutely stabbing quality of the pain she felt at having attacked two of her own party so recklessly, however.

Raising a decidedly shaky hand, Jen straightened her circlet and subsequently felt a certain level of comfort return to her when colour bled back to the world, allowing her to once again pierce the unnerving, unwavering darkness with ease. Her restored sight immediately made her feel a little better, alleviating some of the bewilderment and guilt that she felt due to the attack, especially when she saw that, apart from mirroring her shocked look, Valen was none the worse for wear.

Initially, she tried to stand, but as soon as she moved, she felt her stomach roil and her head pounded painfully, an obvious symptom of the slight concussion she had suffered when Valen had thrown her against the wall. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment, she willed the slightly nauseous sensation she was experiencing to pass; as she did, she felt a light touch brush her arm. Thinking that it might have been Valen checking to make sure he hadn't injured her too badly, she smiled gratefully and opened her eyes.

For some unknown reason, Jen felt a tiny, entirely involuntary jab of disappointment when she saw that tiefling had actually hung back, shock still evidently written upon his face, and that it was the Deathsinger who had knelt down before her. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to feel comforted by the encouraging words Xen'shai murmured to her even though they were in drow and therefore she didn't understand a word he was saying; she knew the sentiment behind them though, simply because his face was a picture of concern as his eyes swept over her still camouflaged body, obviously seeking out any visible signs of injury. Realising that her spell was still running, the half elf closed her eyes and concentrated briefly, willing the spell to dissipate. It didn't take long for her to revert back to her usual appearance, the transformation revealing a particularly impressive bruise that had blossomed under her chin; upon seeing this, Xen'shai's brows knitted together even further in consternation for a moment before he almost hesitantly extended an elegantly manicured hand to check the rest of her neck. His touch was light yet firm, his fingers surprising smooth and cool and, much to her dismay, Jen found herself having to forcibly suppress an involuntary shiver at this display of sudden intimacy – obviously sensing that his touch had caused such a reaction, the drow flicked his jade green eyes up to her face, holding her gaze for no more than a second, before lowering them again and allowing himself a small, slightly self-satisfied smile, which he then imperceptibly shot towards Valen, who simply stared back stonily, his tail flicking erratically from side to side.

Watching the split second exchange, Jen jerked her head back a little, wincing as she did so, and tried to stand again. Reeling slightly as her head span, Xen'shai offered her his arm, which she took with a grateful smile – it was either that to fall straight back down again, or worse, throw up. Bracing herself against the tunnel wall to steady herself, she allowed the drow to slip an arm around her waist to support her. At that, the half elf couldn't help but notice the flicker of irritation that flitted across Valen's face before he bullied his expression back to one of careful neutrality; however, there was still no disguising the stiffness of his gait as he approached them with his fists balled, or the tight quality to his voice.

"You've got blood on your face."

Jen reached up and touched her forehead; it seemed hours rather than minutes since she had disposed of the Red Sister.

"I know… I met a drow. She was wearing the uniform of a Red Sister and so I had to deal with her."

"You 'dealt' with a Red Sister?" Valen asked suspiciously. "Were you successful?"

"She is standing here, still alive… I would hazard a guess that she was successful, abbil,' interjected Xen'shai smoothly. Valen said nothing to that and simply glared at the dark elven male.

Seeing his glare, Jen felt a prickle of intense annoyance at his obvious disbelief that she could not handle herself against a drow assailant.

"Of course I was successful," she said rather hotly and, fishing in her belt pouch, brought forth the ruby ring she had taken from the corpse of the Red Sister. "Is this proof enough?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Xen'shai as she brought the ring forth, and even Valen seemed a little taken aback by her prize as he extended a hand to take the bauble from her, causing Jen to feel slightly smug. This smugness was quickly replaced with a sinking feeling of dread as the two males exchanged equally horrified looks with each other, and the tiefling seized her upper arm painfully, dragging her away from the Deathsinger.

"Ouch!" she complained, feeling incredibly shaken. "Watch it!"

"You took this from the body of the drow?" Valen asked intently. "Did you wear it?"

"What?" Jen replied, confused. "I… you… what?"

"Jenalil!" Valen near shouted, his fury now tinged with an edge of panic. "Did you wear this ring? Did you put it on at any point?"

"N…no!" she stammered, alarmed by the tiefling's response. "Do you think I'm stupid? I would never put on a ring before knowing its properties… I just pocketed it; I…I thought we could use it for bartering purposes or something!"

"That is at least something," Xen'shai broke in, his voice shaking a little. "Maybe she won't have realised the ring is in possession of another yet. It is not Jenalil's fault – she was not to know."

"Wishful thinking, Deathsinger," Valen replied grimly before abruptly letting Jen go. He then marched quickly to the end of the tunnel to where the rocks sloped suddenly away from them down into a seemingly immeasurable abyss and, winding his arm back, flung the ring as far as he could away from him into the blackness of the pit ahead of him before striding back. "She may not know who killed one of her precious Red Sisters, but the moment her heart stopped, she would have known that she was dead; mark my words: she _will_ have used the ring's movements to track the person who took it the moment they did so, and if she has any say in the matter, there _will_ be retribution."

Colour drained from the rogue's face as she took an involuntary step backwards at this. Even though Jen knew deep down exactly whom the tiefling was referring to, there was a large part of her that simply didn't want to believe that it could be true. Swallowing hard past the sudden haunted, fear-induced sick feeling that had taken up residence in her chest, the half elf gave both the Weapon Master and the Deathsinger an almost pleading look as if she was begging for them to tell her that her that it simply wasn't true. Rather than comfort her, Valen looked gravely at Jen, his ice-blue eyes boring into her accusingly.

"The Valsharess is on her way – and do not doubt it: you are to blame."


	12. Reunion

Chapter 12 – Reunion

If it hadn't been for her own problems, Jen might have wondered why Deekin hadn't immediately left the safe confines of his hiding place and leapt to assist her in her fight against what were, at the time, assailants unknown; truth was, the little kobold had enough problems of his own at that time – pressing problems that could not be ignored easily.

Secreting himself under a rocky overhang, he had intended to prepare a few choice spells should he be needing them and then wait for Jen to give him the usual signal when she was ready; it was a tactic they had used hundreds of times before and consequently had it down to something of an art form. However, all this rapidly changed when it became apparent that Deekin wasn't the only one with the bright idea of hiding under the overhang.

The kobold didn't so much hear his new cave-dwelling associate as sense it as it slowly crept its way down from the blackest recesses of the farthest corner of the overhang upon eight silent legs. If Deekin had decided to continue watching Jen intently rather than searching his pocket for spell components, they chances were that he would have been trussed up in a silken cocoon in an instant, nothing more than food for the massive arachnid that had hidden itself in the corner – instead, the kobold caught a shadowy glimpse of a tangle of legs, span around and was faced with eight unblinking eyes surrounded by a curiously smooth, chitinous head that bore no expression other than bestial malevolence.

Daring not even to squeak, Deekin tried to edge backwards from the fearsome spider, but to no avail – the ravenous monster had him firmly in its sights, and there was nothing he could do to convince it otherwise; it was then that he realised that the only way out of this whole situation alive was to take the creature down himself.

Deekin was no coward; kobolds tended to have a pretty poor reputation throughout the realms with regards to their battle prowess, but the truth was that they often fought bravely and fiercely in protection of hearth and home as well as when on raids, and since Jen was now the nearest approximation to what Deekin might have considered a family, he knew instinctively that he had to get himself out of this situation so that he could then go back to aiding the half elf. Slowly, the little kobold took a step backwards, drawing his tiny shortsword as he did with one hand and muttered the verbal components of a spell that would incapacitate and daze his opponents. At this, the spider gave a curiously low hiss and edged forwards – it hadn't eaten in some while, and it wasn't everyday that such a sweet morsel simply strolled freely into its lair.

The spider paused for a moment before striking forwards at a blinding speed; Deekin barely had time to bring his shortsword to bear to deflect the striking front legs before the arachnid was upon him bodily. It cannoned into him, easily knocking him flat; a small, detached part of the kobold's mind wondered in something akin to awe as to how a spider as large as this one – almost the same size as himself – could have secreted its way into such a small hiding place. Thinking that it was going to achieve an easy kill as it sensed its prey's distracted frame of mind, the spider then tried to bite down hard, clear venomous fluids already building and glistening upon its huge mandibles, ready to fill the kobold's body with a poison so virulent it would digest him from the inside out, only to be foiled as Deekin brought his blade up in front of him; there was an audible clash as mandible met steel, and the resulting jarring pain the spider was obviously experiencing caused it to rear back slightly, giving Deekin precious space to manoeuvre.

Skittering backwards and therefore out of the immediate reach of the arachnid's fearsome bite, the little kobold brought his free hand to bear and, completing the spell, threw the wave of incapacitating energy he had called forth as hard as he could at the spider. Although it was only a low powered spell in the grand scheme of things, it was a spell that Deekin knew well, and his confidence lent it power; one moment, the arachnid was advancing with an unmistakeable air of menace about it – the next, it had stopped mid-stride and, finding itself unable to move, toppled slightly to one side. Almost dancing with joy and relief, the kobold then stepped forward - a little warily, because even though it was well known that spiders were on the whole stupid, it always paid to be cautious – and, raising his shortsword, brought it down with as much strength as he could muster upon the spot where thorax met abdomen, essentially slicing the arachnid in two.

Dark, inky fluids immediately splattered all over the walls of the kobold's erstwhile haven, causing Deekin to cover his face with one hand to avoid being blinded, but as suddenly as the almost volcanic eruption of ichor started, it stopped, reducing to a mere trickle that seeped stickily into the cavern floor. Peering forwards, Deekin cautiously checked the body of his attacker; its eyes started glassily and sightlessly back at him, and from the state of the dripping walls, the kobold could only come to the conclusion that his assailant was indeed dead. Feeling supremely pleased with himself at having dispatched such a formidable enemy all by himself, he then remembered the reason why he had come to hide in this spot in the first place, and so re-took up his position watching Jen's back.

o0o

As soon as his harsh words left his lips, Valen wished he could snatch them back. Even Xen'shai's face had been wiped of its usual smug half smile as he gave the tiefling a look that was at once both disbelieving and disdainful – however, that was nothing compared to the look of blatant hurt and confusion upon Jen's face. Contrary to popular belief, the Weapon Master did not take pleasure in belittling others - he did so partially as a way of keeping others at arms length and consequently himself safe and partially out of sheer habit – and even he could see that the half elf had acted upon the information she had been provided with at the time; she had taken the ring in complete innocence of its purpose and actually, in a roundabout way, that they could dispose of it on their own terms meant that they would know where one of the Valsharess' elite troops was at least, meaning they could be actively avoided at all costs.

For a moment, Valen considered apologising, but the tiefling had never been one for admitting any kind of weakness in front of others, and that included admitting when he was wrong. Instead, he just turned away, carefully avoiding the searching, wounded look in Jen's hazel eyes as he did, and simply made to leave.

He did not, however, as it was then that the kobold – that infernal annoyance of a pretend-dragon – chose to re-join them. Deep down, Valen had hoped that the kobold had met a rather sticky – and more importantly, rather terminal – end, but it seemed that Deekin had in fact succeeded where they had all failed and had actually found Jen on his own, and even the tiefling had to had to admit – although begrudgingly – that the kobold obviously had hidden resources, especially when it came to the half elf.

"Deekin knows that Boss did not give signal, but Boss also said Deekin should use own int-you-ish-ion as well, and so Deekin sees Boss finds singer and goatman…" the kobold trailed off, looking hopefully up at Jen with those ridiculously puppy dog eyes. At this, Valen couldn't help but snort in annoyance – not only at the irritating creature's insistence in calling him 'goatman', but also the simpering deference he constantly showed the half elf.

"Don't worry, Deek…no harm done. I think we're going back to find the others now." There was an almost strangled edge to the half elf's voice, as if there was something caught in her throat. Immediately, Valen felt a small sinking sensation from the region of his heart – a tiny, sick feeling that spoke of regret and a deep sense of self loathing. He then experienced a rush of irrational but blisteringly hot anger towards Jen. How dare she make him feel this way? He had spent so long killing off any form of emotion other than the ability to lead and defeat his enemies with absolute and total dispassionate fury so long that it had almost become his armour against the world, and yet within a day, this half elf had managed to strip him of almost everything he held dear: his rank, his position and, most importantly, his carefully constructed mental shields. Closing his eyes, the tiefling spent a moment to sublimate his fury and tried to shove Jen from his mind and re-bar the doors of his conscience against her before speaking through gritted teeth.

"We need to go," he said curtly, without turning around. Then, without waiting for a reply, he simply began walking back to where the others were hopefully still waiting for them, all the while feeling Jen's accusing eyes burning into his back, the image of her hurt countenance still dancing in front of him.

o0o

The journey back to join the others was an uncomfortable one for all involved. Jen had spent a short while asking Deekin exactly why he was covered in thick, dark green ichor – the kobold had then regaled them all with the tale of how he had defeated the giant spider, complete with a rather enthusiastic – if not entirely tuneful - lute accompaniment.

Jen had smiled at this performance, happy for the diversion; Xen'shai had simply rolled his eyes and offered the half elf a rather significant look – a look that she wrinkled her nose up at with a slightly mischievous smile – and Valen, who was now walking a few paces ahead of them, showed absolutely no indication that he has heard the kobold's tale at all.

Shooting the tiefling a decidedly venomous look to the back of his crimson head, Jen patted Deekin companionably upon his shoulder.

"Well done, Deekin," she smiled, before carefully removing her hand and wiping it down the leg of her breeches with a faint look of disgust upon her face.

Deekin beamed back at her, showing all of his teeth before fixing his attention upon the back of the Weapon Master.

"Boss… why he more angry than usual?" Deekin enquired quietly, showing more tact than Jen thought the kobold had in him. "Something steal away favourite weapon?"

"No…" Jen began, glancing towards Valen for a moment. "You know that drow I took down? Well… it was carrying something I shouldn't have taken." She looked a little sheepishly down at Deekin.

"Do not worry yourself, ussta jallil." Xen'shai interjected smoothly, offering Jen a reassuring smile. "You were not to know. As far as I am concerned, one less Red Sister can only work in our favour." As if to reinforce his point, he reached out and touched her upon her arm. "It is not your fault."

For a split second, Jen felt torn between jerking her arm away from the drow and simply staring as if almost mesmerised by the long, thin black fingers that now curled around her upper arm, before she remembered herself. Unsure of what to say, but grateful that someone was on her side in this, she nodded dumbly, offering the drow a small but grateful smile which she quickly sublimated when she saw the drow's once genuine smile twist into something she inexplicably found slightly more sinister. Raising an amused eyebrow at this, Xen'shai dropped his hand from her arm and once again focused his attention on their surroundings.

The half elf and drow walked for a short period in silence, Deekin scampering ahead slightly so that he was only a few feet away from the stalking form of the Weapon Master; Xen'shai with his habitual smug smile firmly in place, Jen with an almost hunted look upon her face as she mentally berated herself for allowing the Deathsinger to unbalance her again. It didn't take long, however, before they all heard the roaring sound of the waterfall in the distance, heralding their arrival back to the clearing where they had all too recently fought the umberhulks, even if it did feel like an age since that particular battle.

Abruptly, the claustrophobic confines of the tunnels opened out, making Jen feel suddenly vulnerable. Instinctively, she hugged the rocky wall of the tunnel mouth, using the shadows to hide herself and crept forwards; glancing to one side, she saw that the others – even Valen – were doing the same.

It paid to be cautious in the depths of the Underdark.

Straining to hear anything above the rushing hiss of the waterfall to her left, the half elf tried to ascertain where the others of her makeshift party were, but this was essentially futile; the drow were experts at not being seen, and even with her own gifts in such areas, she knew she would never find them if they didn't want to be found. As if to prove her point, she almost jumped out of her skin as she saw the shadows shift and coalesce into the form of Nathyrra; a large, relieved smile upon her angular elven features.

"By Eilistraee, am I glad to see you!" she whispered in exclamation as she closed in on Jen, impulsively taking the half elf's hands into hers. "You have been gone so long… we had almost given up hope. What happened?"

Jen shook her head a little sheepishly. "It's a long story… and one I promise I'll tell you later, but right now, we have to move."

"Why?"

"Because this place isn't safe anymore," Valen interjected, making Jen jump a little since he had been nowhere near her before. "Jenalil met a Red Sister and took her down – and due to those cursed rings, it means she'll know she's dead and will send a vzahaz of her own to investigate. We have to move."

For a moment, Nathyrra gave Jen a rather appraising look before nodding slowly at Valen. "I understand. Annoying…although it is encouraging to know that you can take down a Red Sister single-handedly, Jen." The drow smiled. "Not many of our troops could do that without support. Good work."

At Nathyrra's smile and words of encouragement, the half elf felt her spirits lift a little and for reasons unknown, felt compelled to shoot a slightly triumphant look at the Weapon Master. He returned the look with a icy glare of his own before looking away; it was then that Jen wondered exactly why he hadn't told the assassin that she had taken the ring and his subsequent anger at her having done so. Shrugging slightly to herself, the half elf figured that that question could wait; she could ask him later, as it was far more important now to move quickly - and above all, quietly - from this place, thus avoiding the Valsharess' troops and an unnecessary battle.

o0o

It only took the other drow a few minutes to rejoin then, each one arriving in a similar form as Nathyrra had done by seemingly melting from the shadows that thronged the clearing; Xen'shai quickly stepped to his brother's side and began to hold a whispered conversation in rapid drow. From the way both of them glanced her way, she guessed that he was relaying their recent exploits to the mage, but the sly way Jehk'ril smiled and then slid his gaze towards her made Jen feel supremely uncomfortable. Both Tsabandiir and Rizonym simply nodded in greeting but said nothing, Szinaufein, conversely, was a little more upfront in his greeting as he shyly made his way beside Jen and welcomed her back in person before bowing his head briefly - not to her, however, but to Nathyrra. At this, Jen had to stifle a smile with one hand, causing Nathyrra to scowl briefly at her before she ordered the young male away from them in drow; this in turn caused Szinaufein to bob his head at her again before he turned and left, but not before he shot Jen a decidedly boyish grin. Upon seeing this, Jen could help but snort in amusement as she tried to hold in a giggle at the brash young male's impertinence, causing Nathyrra to roll her eyes in exasperation. Her snort also caused Valen to look around in annoyance.

"I'm glad you think we've got time to lark around," he growled acerbically. "May I please remind my lady that we are currently trying to ensure that we can get away from our enemies as swiftly as possible and with as little knowledge of our exact whereabouts as we can as opposed to them being alerted to us by your obvious amusement at our situation?" The tiefling glared unblinkingly, causing any amusement Jen may have felt at Szinaufein's cheekiness to abruptly melt away before turning his attention to a rather irritated looking Nathyrra. "We'll have to take the western tunnel; it'll take longer to reach Zovak'Mur, but at least it isn't as well traversed as the others. Any patrols that we meet there will be if not easily avoided, then more avoidable, at least. Come on." He glanced back to Jen. "We have little time to muck around."

"What is it with him?"

Jen spoke in low tones to her fellow female and gestured slightly with her head towards the hulking form of the Weapon Master ahead, her irritation made plain as the small party made their way down what was proving to be a rather obstacle-filled passageway; no wonder the western tunnel was seldom used by anyone as a main route of transport, being that is was really no more than a crack in the cliffside of the clearing by the waterfall.

Nathyrra paused for a long while before answering with a quick shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know – I suppose part of it is just his nature… he is a tiefling, after all."

"A tiefling?" Jen had heard the term before, but since she never had been the most diligent student, she hadn't really taken on board what it meant. "Isn't that something to do with devils?"

"Demons, actually." Nathyrra gave her a sardonic smile. "Means that somewhere along the line, someone in his family got a little too friendly with a tanar'ri." She then gave Jen a slightly sceptical look. "I thought the horns and the tail would have been a dead give away, to be honest…"

Jen grinned wryly at that. "It may come as a surprise to you, Nathyrra, but we don't often have much to do with the inhabitants of the Lower Planes on the surface, especially where I come from!" She paused for a moment, ensuring that no one was listening in to their conversation; she didn't know exactly why the thought of someone overhearing her discuss the tiefling bothered her, but it did nonetheless. "It's still no excuse to be so… well, so damn foul tempered all the time. Or is it just me?"

"Well…" Nathyrra offered Jen a complicated facial shrug. "He is difficult by nature, but I would by lying if I said he wasn't giving you a hard time." The drow female touched Jen on the arm when she saw a fleeting look of disappointment skitter across her face. "He's so very protective of Mother Seer, and the mere thought that there is someone out there who can help her other than him… I don't think it mattered who was down here; they could have been a champion amongst men – a paladin of the highest order – and Valen would have given them a hard time." She grinned. "Don't worry; he'll come round. Either that, or he'll just ignore you…"

"And until then?"

"Until then, you can do one of three things: you can pander to his ego, ignore him… or give him as good as he gets until he learns some manners." Nathyrra then winked with a rather rakish grin, making clear which one she would settle for as she leaned conspiratorially towards the half elf. "If you give these males an inch, they'll take a mile – and then pretend it's nine and want you to be grateful about it, if you know what I mean. Therefore, it is up to us females to remind them of their true place in this life."

Grateful at being able to talk her concerns out with someone understanding, Jen grinned back, her cheeks colouring a little at Nathyrra's slightly crude use of an old metaphor, but appreciated her candour nevertheless.

Nathyrra then gave Jen a rather significant look. "I will say one thing; when it comes down to it, I know there's no one I'd rather have at my back. Valen may be difficult, touchy and sometimes downright contrary, but I have no doubt that he'd follow you to the ends of the world and back again if it meant keeping Lith My'athar and Mother Seer safe. That cannot be said of others whom you might place your trust in."

Jen returned the rebel drow's significant look. "Xen'shai?"

The drow female nodded before giving the half elf an earnest look. "He will pretend to be your friend, Jen… but have no doubt it's only because it suits his purpose. Be…careful."

At that, it was Jen's turn to frown and offer Nathyrra a rakish grin. "Look, I might be nothing more than a rank amateur when it comes to the politics of the drow, but give me some credit. I can see a mile off what Xen'shai is, so don't worry… I've got my eye on him."

"Yes.. and he's got his eye on you, and I don't know why." Nathyrra now looked deadly serious. "I'm being serious, Jen; watch yourself with him. He's got an ulterior motive in all of this, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what it is. He's trouble… more so than the rest of them put together, and doubly so with that brother of his in tow."

"I know… I've dealt with his type before." Jen continued to smile, refusing to be daunted by the drow female's warnings. "Don't worry; I think it's safe to say I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him… and that goes for his brother as well."

"Well… as long as you're certain. Just… be careful. That's all I ask."

"I solemnly swear I will be careful…" Jen raised one hand and then covered her heart with it. "Okay?"

Nathyrra just shook her head, another smile touching her lips. "You're sweet, Jen… and that's a breath of fresh air down here, I can tell you. But that may also be your downfall. There's no such thing as honour down here..."

"… there's hardly any on the surface, either!" Jen interrupted with an amused snort. "You make out as if everything down here is a hundred times worse than anywhere on the surface, and I'm telling you that's just not true!" She then sighed. "I know you're just looking out for me, and I really appreciate that – there is no way I'd survive here in the Underdark without you, and I realise this – but I'm not some inexperienced kid, still wet behind the ears. I've been to places hardly anyone has ever heard of - met and fought foes that most people think are nothing more than myth and legend - and lived to tell the tale. I know I don't look it… but I do know what I'm doing." She grinned. "Kind of, anyway."

Nathyrra smiled back, but it was tainted with an obvious edge of doubt. "I have heard tale of your exploits, Jen, and believe me when I say I am not belittling your accomplishments at all; you are definitely a strong and talented warrior, and I don't think anyone could say differently... but I really don't think you are prepared for what the Underdark is like. Not everything is so black and white down here – just because someone is not trying to stick a dagger in your back and smiles nicely at you doesn't mean they're necessarily your friend." She held her hands up to forestall any comment from the half elf. "I know what you're going to say, but please… just let me worry, all right? I hope they're all unfounded, but just in case they aren't…"

"Okay," sighed Jen. "Worry away; I won't stop you." She then gave Nathyrra a truly genuine smile. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For looking out for me. I mean it; I could never do this without you."

Nathyrra looked bashfully to the floor. "Yes you could – Valen could get you through anything."

"True… and he could drive me insane with his constant sulking and his 'I am the alpha male around here and don't you forget it!' sensibilities." At Jen's impromptu impression of the tiefling, the Nathyrra couldn't help but snicker, causing Jen to grin. "I mean it, Nathyrra… thank you. For everything."


	13. A Silent Reprieve

_This chapter ended up being very long, so I've split it in two... _

Chapter 13 – A Silent Reprieve

Keeping his distance, Xen'shai watched the two females in front of him converse quietly with interest; although he couldn't hear what they were saying – and quite frankly, had no interest in their female twitterings, either – it did fascinate him that simply by observing their body language, it was obvious that the two of them were bonding on a level that went beyond merely being members of the same troop, and that even though they were from such disparate backgrounds as the Underdark and the Night Above, the simple fact that they were the only two females present meant that they had something in common, and for that reason alone, they were willing to put aside any lingering racial prejudices and tensions simply so that they each had someone to relate to.

Smirking to himself as he contemplated how he might use this little titbit of insight to his advantage, the Deathsinger then made his silent way to Tsabandiir's side. Even though the other drow males present might feel it was too early, Xen'shai knew instinctively it was time for the wheels of his own machinations to begin turning, and in order for them to work, he needed to ensure that the most recalcitrant – although faithful – member of his little circle would not decide to take matters into his own hands and inadvertently ruin a plan that he was only partially privy to.

As always, Rizonym was walking by the Darkmask cleric's side, but as soon as the Deathsinger stepped up and gestured with a sharp flick of his head that the scarred warrior should leave, he did so without a word. Ignoring Tsabandiir's glare at having sent his mate away, Xen'shai gestured with one hand that he wished to speak to him privately, away from prying eyes and ears. Nodding curtly to show that he understood, the Darkmask cleric paused awhile, allowing Jehk'ril, who had been walking behind him, to pass and join Rizonym; as he did so, the mage shot his brother a questioning look which was quelled with a short shake of his head; there were some things that even Jehk'ril could not be told, and for good reason. Waiting a short while to ensure that everyone else was engrossed in their own private worlds, the cleric spoke up, his thin, breathy voice made even more so by his desire to not be overheard.

"Elghinnsunduiri... what is your need?"

Xen'shai paused for a while before answering as an amused half-smile spread across his face, his attention seemingly diverted as the half elf walking ahead of them laughed - not loudly as to betray their presence to others, but enough for the lilting quality of her expression of amusement – innocent of any malice or disdain – to distract him for a moment. Upon witnessing this, Tsabandiir could not help but sigh irritably and roll his eyes; Xen'shai could watch the half elf that held such an inexplicable fascination over the Deathsinger all he wished on his own time and leave him out of it.

Hearing the unmistakeable edge of annoyance in the Darkmask's involuntary snort, Xen'shai slid his attention back to Tsabandiir.

"Wonderful, isn't it? So pure... So... untainted."

For a moment, the Darkmask wondered if the Deathsinger was actually addressing him, or whether he was talking to himself; rather than court his displeasure, however, the cleric decided to remain reluctantly silent.

"I wonder how long she will remain this way..."

Even though Xen'shai had not phrased his comment as a question, Tsabandiir decided to answer him anyway.

"Not long, I wouldn't wonder, not with you around." He shot the Deathsinger a look of sheer revulsion. "Your... unnatural predilection for pale skin does not do you any credit, Elghinnsunduiri. If it was not for the Precepts..." He shuddered delicately. "I know our Lord encourages the mingling of blood if necessary, but there are limits."

Xen'shai snorted in smug amusement. "If only you knew, Olathorbdrin... if only you knew." Quirking an eyebrow at his fellow drow as Tsabandiir bristled at his taunt, the Deathsinger's amusement only deepened. "Ahh, do not take it personally, Tsabandiir. All shall soon become apparent, that much I can promise you."

"It should not be this way, Xen'shai," Tsabandiir snapped back, his annoyance at the whole situation he had been nigh on forced into bubbling to the surface. "I am usually the one who is blessed: the one who does the informing. Exactly what you have done to gain such favour..."

"The Masked Lord knows whom He can trust, Olathorbdrin," Xen'shai replied, his tone all of a sudden taking on a rather more dangerous edge. "I would hope you are not second guessing Him?"

Although it was probably just a trick of the light, Tsabandiir's mouth nevertheless quickly ran dry as a shadow flitted briefly across the Deathsinger's face, settling for no more than a second over his eyes, making it seem as if he was for all intents and purposes wearing a mask. "I am forever faithful,"he murmured obsequiously in return. "I just wish I knew more of His plans in this, simply so I could understand them better and so aid us all in achieving victory."

"When the time is nigh, I have no doubt you shall be told... but for the meantime, just follow the instructions you have been given." Xen'shai gave the cleric a significant look. "We are to assist the Seer's champion in whatever way we can."

"I am aware of that... although I do not see where your near fawning over her comes into all of this. Surely your desire for white flesh is not worth your pride?"

"As I said: when the time is nigh, all shall be revealed." The Deathsinger smiled smugly once again. "As for my pride – and my desires – the Shadow works in mysterious ways, abbil, and all you witness is not simply to satisfy any hungers I may – or may not - hold. All you need to concern yourself with is making sure we are seen to be completely and utterly dedicated to the safety of this female. In order for things to run smoothly, no one must doubt our allegiances, least of all Jenalil. We must earn her trust."

"I am aware of these facts, Elghinnsunduiri. Why else do you think I am here? Out of the goodness of my own heart?"

"Never that, Olathorbdrin... but nevertheless, it must seem that way." Seeing the grimace that crossed Tsabandiir's face, Xen'shai grinned. "Do not worry; you will not be forced into any... compromising situations – it is enough that you are seen to be willing to help in any way you can, that is all." The Deathsinger's tone suddenly grew sharp. "Is that clear?"

Tsabandiir inclined his head in agreement. "Whatever the Masked Lord wills, I will obey."

"Excellent." With that, Xen'shai shot Tsabandiir one last smug half-smile before leaving his side.

"Excellent..."

o0o

The further the small party travelled along the narrow, glittering tunnel the more difficult the terrain became to traverse, and slowly but surely, all conversation gave way to silent concentration upon making sure they all safely managed to clamber over the crystal studded boulders that were strewn in their path and mineral encrusted laval extrusions that towered above them as quietly as possible. After the excitement of their last encounter, the Underdark seemed silent and still once again, but this time Jen knew better and so kept a keen eye out for even the slightest hint that anything might be watching their progress. More than once she had to help Deekin climb, and on one memorable occasion, Rizonym drew level with her as she struggled to lift the kobold to a place where he could find handholds upon a particularly difficult outcrop, lifted the small bard up with ease and then proceeded to carry him as he himself climbed with practised ease. Once upon the other side of the immense slumps of lava that had blocked their path, the scarred drow placed Deekin upon the ground and with a solemn nod to the rather surprised Jen, simply re-took his position beside Tsabandiir with nary a word.

After what seemed like hours of walking and climbing, Szinaufein, who was once again at the head of the party alongside Valen, gestured for them all to stop. Grateful for this reprieve, Jen took a moment to stretch her aching limbs, feeling a satisfying crack from her back when she did so, before setting her backpack down and fishing out her waterskin. Although the liquid contained within was warm and tasted for all the world like worn leather, to her parched mouth is was a panacea, and it took all her willpower not to drink down every last drop; Nathyrra had already warned her with regards to the scarcity of truly fresh drinking water in the Underdark, and so she was determined to make what little water she could carry last, just in case.

After a whispered conversation in rapid drow with Valen, the young drow ranger made his way along the line until he drew level with Jen, and informed her in broken Common that there was a shallow cave located nearby that patrols in this area sometimes used as a place to hole up and rest. To show that he was telling the truth, Valen stood just behind the ranger and curtly nodded in agreement. Smiling gratefully at the young male dark elf, the half elf shrugged her shoulders and looked to the rest of the party for a decision, but rather than giving her one, they simply looked back to her, forcing her to decide. Realising that this was part of her ongoing initiation into their rather more experienced ranks, she took a few moments to study their individual postures, but reading the drow was like reading a book made purely of blank pages. She then looked down to the exhausted form of Deekin and made her mind up easily: she was tired, as was Deekin, and that was all that mattered. Whether they thought her weak or not simply didn't matter any more – they were stopping.

No one said anything to either agree or disagree with her decision, causing Jen to doubt herself for a moment, but as they moved off, Nathyrra offered her a small smile of encouragement, making the half elf feel immediately better about her decision. Szinaufein then led all of them down what at first looked like nothing more than small fissure in the tunnel wall with a ceiling so low that the only one that didn't have to duck was Deekin; Valen, as the tallest member of the party, near crawled ahead of Jen with a decidedly disgruntled air about him. They did this for quite a distance before the fissure opened out to reveal a dangerous looking scree slope, which Szinaufein began to scale with the practised ease of someone who had frequented this place before; never once did he dislodge a stone, and Jen found herself dreading the prospect of climbing the scree when it was her time to ascend. Jehk'ril and Tsabandiir then followed their fellow male, each one climbing as easily as the ranger had done; it was then that Jen really began to feel decidedly apprehensive.

"Rizonym – take the kobold," Valen suddenly ordered. Glancing to her right she saw that the tiefling was watching her intently with an unreadable expression upon his face. "Jenalil – you're next."

Swallowing down her nervousness, Jen made her way to the base of the scree slope, only to find that Valen had followed her. Fully expecting him to take advantage of the situation as another excuse to berate her, the half elf closed her eyes before studying the obstacle in front of her; it was then that Valen stepped up closely behind her, and lightly touching her shoulder briefly, gestured to a point just in front and to the left of her.

"There are disguised hand and footholds all the way up," he murmured, his voice curiously neutral. "They are hidden well, but if you look carefully, you'll be able to see them."

Surprised, Jen's first reaction was to look up at the tall warrior that towered over her in stunned silence. For a split second, he looked down at her with a look of challenge upon his face, although exactly what he was challenging her with still wasn't entirely clear to the half elf. Realising she was staring, Jen remembered herself and, nodding gratefully, spent a short while studying the face of the scree before small, well disguised stones that had been securely set into the actual rock itself became all of a sudden apparent to her. Now that she could see them, it all became suddenly clear to her; the scree wasn't natural, and if you knew where to go, climbing it without dislodging any of the loose rock debris was actually relatively easy.

"Do you want me to go first, or do you think you can cope?" Valen asked, seeing the look of revelation cross the half elf's face, his voice still curiously neutral.

At his question, Jen shook her head. "I'll go – I think I'll be okay." She then glanced up at him again and risked a small smile of thanks, which he didn't return.

Feeling a slight stab of disappointment deep with herself, Jen consoled herself silently that it took time to rebuild bridges that had been essentially burnt before they had been constructed as she reached up to the first handhold and began to climb, with Valen close behind her. Her progress wasn't as fast as that of the drow who had climbed ahead of her, but she made steady progress, and upon the few occasions where she lost the location of the next handhold, Valen would quietly point them out to her from below. On the one instance that she slipped, Jen felt that odd, swooping sensation in her stomach as her foot slid backwards, but her immediate fear that she would fall and therefore send tonnes of carefully placed rock debris down with her was abruptly halted when she felt a strong hand catch her heel and push her back up to relative safety with ease. Glancing back down, she expected to see Valen glaring back up at her in disdain at her perceived stupidity, but instead he simply regarded her passively, which, in a way, unnerved her even more than his earlier anger at her had done.

Feeling decidedly unbalanced, Jen managed to make her way to the top of the scree slope without any further mishaps, and upon reaching the top, she looked back down to see Rizonym climbing with Deekin clinging to his back, followed closely by Nathyrra and Xen'shai. She then watched Valen straighten himself up as he swung himself over the lip of the scree with a grace that belied his size and went to offer him another word of thanks for his help, hoping to shear up another section of the bridge she was tentatively hoping to build with the intractable tiefling, but he cut this short by simply striding past her to where Szinaufein was standing, completely ignoring her in the process.

Once again, Jen felt a flicker of deep anger at Valen's contrary treatment of her, and so decided to take Nathyrra's previous advice to heart and play him at his own game by simply ignoring him back – instead, she went over to where Rizonym was climbing over the edge of the scree and, with some trouble as Deekin was surprisingly heavy, lifted the kobold from the scarred drow's shoulders. Hauling himself over the edge, the warrior straightened himself up, and with a grateful dip of his head, treated Jen to a rare smile that lightened his whole normally dour countenance, giving the half elf a glimpse of the handsome, matron-favoured drow he had once been before he had been tortured so horrifically.

Scampering ahead of her, Deekin then went to join the small gathering in front of the cave entrance whilst Jen waited for the final two members of their little party to make their way up the last part of the scree and join them. To Nathyrra, Jen offered her hand, which the other female took with a smile. Once Nathyrra had straightened herself up, Xen'shai had reached the lip, and grinning a little cheekily, extended his hand for Jen to take. Glancing sideways, Nathyrra pursed her lips in slight disapproval as the half elf smiled awkwardly back at the Deathsinger and extended her hand to him, which he grasped firmly as he clambered over the top; once he had found his footing and stood up, he did not immediately let go of Jen's hand, but instead covered it with his other hand and gently brought her fingertips to his smiling lips, which he touched with a feather-light kiss, causing Jen to swallow hard and blush slightly. Annoyed at this blatant use of the oldest trick in the book – and the fact that Jen had seemingly fallen for it – Nathyrra cleared her throat irritably. As if realising for the first time that the other female was still present, Jen then tried to snatch her hand away from the Deathsinger in obvious embarrassment, which in turn seemed to amuse the insolently precocious drow immensely as he held on to the half elf for a second longer than what could have been considered polite before letting go with a slight inclination of his head and a beguiling smile. Then, without saying a word, he left the two females and went to join the others at the cave entrance.

Narrowing her eyes, Nathyrra regarded the Deathsinger suspiciously as he left. She then turned to Jen, who at least had the good grace to look sheepish.

"Just don't say it..."

"I told you..." Nathyrra started.

"I know," interrupted Jen. "Believe me, I know." The half elf then looked pleadingly at the female drow. "Just drop it?"

The beseeching note in Jen's voice made Nathyrra roll her eyes and shake her head amusedly. "All right... but just this once, okay?"

o0o

Although the entrance to the cave was narrow and uninviting, once Jen had squeezed her way through she found the cavern beyond to be spacious and comfortable, if a little low-ceilinged. There were little hints that it had been used regularly as a resting place for many different people in the past: what looked like a crude firepit was located towards the back, and the sand on the floor surrounding it was fine and soft, making it more comfortable to sit upon than bare rock. Upon inspection, the firepit didn't seem to have any fuel in it of any kind, nor any tell tale ashes, just a pile of stones; Jen watched with interest as Jehk'ril strode over and inspected them before touching them whilst muttering a few unintelligible words under his breath. When he had finished, the stones immediately began to glow faintly as each one heated up, leaving the cave comfortably warm and giving them somewhere to cook or boil water should they need to without the danger of an open flame – useful, Jen surmised, in a place where a naked flame could prove to be your downfall.

Pulling off her backpack and allowing it to drop to the floor, Nathyrra watched Jen as she wandered cautiously around their temporary haven, studying her new surroundings, the kobold Deekin in tow. The other drow, each of whom had used this cave many times in the past, didn't bother, however, and just began unpacking the various accoutrements they would need for the next few hours ahead: bedrolls, rations, flint and steel amongst others, and then made themselves as comfortable as they could, all the while speaking quietly in drow. A few times, the half elf looked up and over at them, frowning slightly in confusion, but for the moment, the males conversation was dominated by simple banter that had nothing to do with her, and so she did not worry for the moment that Jen did not understand – in fact, Nathyrra thought it was a good idea that Jen got used to hearing more of the dominant language this way if she was to pick it up quickly.

The last to enter the cave was Valen; he had spent a few moments on his own observing their surroundings outside, checking to ensure they had not been followed by anyone who might mean them harm. Nathyrra knew this was something that he always did as a way to comfort himself that they were indeed as safe as possible; an overhang, she guessed, from his days in the Abyss. He too then made his way to the back of the cave, dropped his backpack, dragged out a worn looking bedroll and made himself a space just outside the influence of the fire and noticeably away from where the other males had set themselves up. He than sat with his back to the wall, upon which he leant Devil's Bane with care in such a way that if they were attacked suddenly, he could snatch the weapon up quickly without having to untangle its chains.

Nathyrra then picked up the backpack she had dropped by her feet and settled herself down between the drow males and the tiefling. Immediately, Szinaufein surreptitiously moved his things so that they were closer to hers, causing the female to sigh a little under her breath. Jen then picked her way through the various bodies and crouched down in front of her, a quizzical look upon her face. The assassin patted the floor next to her as the general sign for 'please, join me'; at that, Jen smiled, dropped her pack and sat on the soft sand, Deekin just behind her.

"It's big in here. Bigger than I thought it would be. Aren't you worried that this place'll be discovered and taken over by the Valsharess?"

Nathyrra shrugged her shoulders as she began to rummage in her own pack, pulling out her own spidersilk bedroll. "It's always a worry... but this whole area is currently under our control. It's one of the few areas that actually are – we're pretty sure she knows about it, but it's a bit off the beaten track and so all we can gather is that she isn't that interested in it." The female drow then shook out her bedroll and smoothed it over her lap. "Which is all the better for us, of course. In her arrogance, she has overlooked the obvious – that although this place isn't particularly strategic in terms of protecting and gaining territory, it _is _a safe place to hole up and lay low."

"Although, with your arrival, all that might change."

Both Nathyrra and Jen looked up as Valen suddenly joined in their conversation. He was still sitting with his back against the cavern wall, a battered tin in one hand and a cloth in the other.

Jen looked a little confused. "And why is that?"

The tiefling put the tin on the floor and leaned forwards a little, resting his forearms upon his knees. "Because now, any place that might hide you all of a sudden becomes of utmost interest to the Valsharess."

Jen gave both the assassin and the weapon master a small, bewildered look. "How does she know about me? I thought my involvement was something only The Seer was privy to?"

Valen sat back against the wall and shrugged his well-muscled shoulders. "We're not entirely sure how she knows about you... but she does. We have various people planted amongst her ranks that reported she not only knows of you, but that she did so as soon as The Seer had her vision."

Nathyrra nodded, looking grave. "Valen speaks the truth, I am afraid. We are guessing the Arch Devil she has enslaved has something to do with it, but we can't be sure. She only allows her closest, most trusted advisers and Red Sisters to be in his presence, but it does make sense."

"Yes... it does make sense," Jen said eventually, after a thoughtful pause. "Upon arriving in Waterdeep, I spent my first night in the Yawning Portal Inn... and was attacked by a drow assassin whilst I slept. I always wondered why I had been targeted in such a way, but now it makes sense. She saw The Seer's vision as well and thought she had found a way to circumvent it. Luckily, I woke up." The half elf then smiled wryly. "Even luckier is my habit of sleeping with a good dagger under my pillow."

"Lucky indeed," Nathyrra agreed, whilst Valen simply snorted and dropped the cloth he was carrying by the tin he had placed upon the floor next to him, causing the drow female to scowl briefly at him. "I don't even want to think about what might have happened if the Valsharess' assassin had been successful. Still, she wasn't, so we can now just concentrate upon the future."

"Speaking of which..." Valen interrupted as he stood up, bowing his head slightly to stop his horns from scraping the rocky ceiling above them. "We may be safer here than out there," he gestured towards the mouth of the cavern, "but that does not mean we can neglect a watch." He paused whilst all the drow males nodded in agreement. "Good. We will watch in pairs." The tiefling then began to gesture towards various individuals. "Tsabandiir, Rizonym – you work well together. Szinaufein can watch with Jehk'ril, and Xen'shai with Nathyrra." Valen allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as both the drow looked at each other with open dislike – it was petty, he knew, but it was the one way he could repay Nathyrra for pairing him with the insolent bard earlier on in the day... plus, although he would have never admitted this to her, it meant that the Deathsinger was being watched by someone he actually trusted. "I shall watch with Jenalil." He then glanced down at the half elf, who exchanged a weary look with her fellow female.

"And Deekin? Deekin watch with Mighty Boss and goatman?"

_Blast..._

"There is no need," Valen snapped, having forgotten that wherever the half elf went, that annoyance of a kobold went too.

"But Deekin watch, too?"

The tiefling closed his eyes for a moment, only to open them and catch the infinitely amused smile that graced Xen'shai's face, causing him to grit his teeth. "Do as you wish, kobold. Just do not give our position away."

At that, Deekin grinned widely at Jen, whose own expression was caught between one of amusement and resignation. Hoping that he had the self discipline not to strangle the kobold come later on, Valen then continued.

"We shall draw straws as to the rota, but for the mean time, we shall eat. Are we all agreed?"

From the glowering look that he gave them all, even if they had disagreed, none of the drow spoke up.

He wasn't called the Errdegah-chath for nothing.


	14. Bridges

_Warning – fangirling ahead! Simply because I know damn well that I would do exactly the same as Jen if I was presented with Valen cleaning his armour in front of me, no matter how horrible he had been to me… (sheepish grin)_

Chapter 14 – Bridges

Now that the watch rota had been sorted, the small party settled down to relax as much as they could in the relatively restricted space that had been afforded to them. Once they were as comfortable as possible, food rations were prepared and handed around, consisting mainly of dried strips of rothe jerky, a curiously fragrant flat bread, dried mushrooms that were duly soaked in a small pot of water to make them more palatable, lumps of a hard cheese made from rothe milk and half a dozen fruits that looked for all the world like apples, if apples were deep purple in colour and smelt vaguely of honey.

They ate in relative silence, only commenting to pass makeshift plates made out of flat rocks and the little crockery they had brought with them – mainly wooden bowls fashioned out of the immense stems of a tree-sized fungus. Once they had all eaten, Nathyrra took a small tin kettle from her pack and heated some water, in which she steeped some kind of dried lichen; it smelt a little musty, but tasted as close to tea as Jen could have hoped. Having eaten, Rizonym and Tsabandiir then stood up and made their way to the cavern entrance, leaving the rest of the party to clear away their meagre meal and settle down to rest.

For the first time in a while, Jen found the perpetual darkness she was currently living in quite disturbing, mainly because she currently had no idea what time it actually was; it could have been midday on the surface for all she knew, but here she felt like she was preparing for night. The others, however, seemed to hold no such worries, and soon they were all sitting or lying down on their various bedrolls to either tend to the maintenance of their weaponry or simply to take the opportunity to close their eyes and relax in relative safety. Taking their lead, Jen sat on her own bedroll that she had set up in one corner of the cave, drew Enserric from its scabbard – Nathyrra having returned the weapon to her earlier on – and rummaged in her backpack for her whetstone and a soft cloth. At first, the sword began its usual persistent demands for the blood of the various beings that shared the cavern with her, but as soon as she began to drag the whetstone along its edge, the blade quietened down, its demands soon transforming into something that the rogue could only think of as a curious mental purr. Jen always got the feeling that the weapon liked to be maintained this way simply due to the sense of self satisfaction it projected on to her during these periods, and whilst it had once vaguely disturbed her that for all intents and purposes she was stroking the sword in what could be considered a rather intimate way, she had decided a long time ago that is was easier to forget that the consciousness dwelling inside the blade had once been a man and instead treated it as if it was an especially intelligent, if demanding, cat.

After only a short while, Jen's concentration was broken by a soft clanking noise in front of her. Looking up to find the source, she was greeted by the sight of Valen going through the ritual of removing his armour. This seemed to be a major undertaking for him, and for a long moment, she simply watched him unbuckle various hidden straps with a practised hand before dropping each individual section to the ground one by one: first greaves, then bracers, shoulder guards next and finally, breastplate. Since she herself had never worn such complicated-looking armour in her life, the way the suit was constructed and fastened to his body fascinated her; realising she was now almost staring, the half elf dropped her eyes in embarrassment and tried to refocus her attention back to cleaning her sword, but her good intentions were soon compromised upon hearing the soft chink of chainmail hitting the floor; seemingly unable to help herself, she couldn't help but look up once more.

The tiefling had now sat himself cross-legged upon his heavily patched bedroll, clad only in a light woollen vest and leather breeches, his tail curled primly around him. Stretching forwards, he pulled his breastplate into his lap; on the floor near his right foot was the tin he had extricated from his backpack earlier - Jen now guessed it was some kind of polish - and in his left hand was a cloth, which he briefly dipped into the tin. Then, with a look of fierce concentration upon his face, he carefully applied the cloth to the metal and began to rub it clean with firm, steady, circular strokes. Occasionally he would come across what was obviously a more stubborn piece of dirt and the pace in which he rubbed at the metal would increase accordingly, but once he was satisfied that he had successfully removed the offending grime, he would return back to the almost hypnotically slow, circular movements of before.

Without realising she was doing it, Jen cocked her head to one side, captivated as she watched his hands caress the metal, her eyes half-lidded in an unconscious attempt at not being spotted doing so. She didn't know how long she watched, mesmerised by the hypnotic, rhythmic movement of his hands, her concentration only broken when he stopped his cleaning to dip his cloth once again into the tin of polish. Rather than refocus back on the maintenance of her own sword, however, she allowed her surreptitious gaze to travel up from his hands to his face, and the half elf found herself studying the tiefling properly for the first time since they had met.

As the meagre glow from their makeshift firepit glinted softly off the flat, lean planes of his face, Jen found to her surprise that the Weapon Master was clearly younger than she had originally thought; before, she had been unable to see past his disdainful glares and aggressive stance, but now he was concentrating upon something else other than his obvious scorn for her, he had for all intents and purposes let his guard down, which allowed the half elf to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the carefully constructed hostile façade. What surprised her even more was that she found he was not unpleasant to look upon – handsome, even – and that any ugliness she may have originally seen in him came purely from his attitude towards her. He was obviously putting a lot of effort into his task, because a thin trickle of sweat beaded on his forehead as he continued his task, seemingly oblivious to the half elf's scrutiny; she contemplated the droplet's progress for a moment as it tracked a lazy path down the contours of his face before the tiefling absent-mindedly wiped it away with the back his forearm. Now leaning forwards slightly, Jen brought her hand to her face without thinking and rested her chin in one cupped hand whilst she absent-mindedly caressed her slightly parted lips slowly with one soft finger, her expression a curious mixture of confusion and interest as her attention slid to the play of light over the curves of his well - but not overly - muscled arms and shoulders.

_Catching flies, are we?_

The imperious, tinny mental voice of Enserric cut through her musings like a warm knife through butter, causing the rogue to blush and snap her mouth shut before glancing around herself, hoping no one else had noticed her scrutiny of the tiefling. She then picked up the once-forgotten blade from her lap and began cleaning it with renewed vigour; from the safe confines of her head, she answered the sword, her mental tone defensive.

_No – of course not! I was... I... I'm tired, that's all. _

_Of course. Tired. Not that you were neglecting to pay attention to me so you could admire that infernal Outsider at all. _The sword's tone then slid to smug superiority at having rattled its owner._ I told you they were tricky, but would you listen to me?_

_I was not admiring! _Jen retorted back. _I was just... watching. I never took the chance to really see what he was before, other than a pair of crossed arms and a disapproving glare. That's all._

_And I suppose the way the light catches those rippling muscles is just a happy bonus, hmmm? _the sword taunted her, its tone now unmistakeably self-satisfied. _You forget – you were holding me, and so I can hear your thoughts._

_No you can't! _Jen answered quickly, feeling the blush that had crept across her cheeks deepen uncomfortably. _I have practised enough to keep you out of my head! You're just trying to tease me..._

_You keep believing that, if it makes you feel better, _Enserric retorted back, its amusement at her discomfiture now completely apparent. _Lie to me all you want, but you really shouldn't lie to yourself, you know..._

Feeling her anger rising at the sword's ability to discompose her in such a way, she dropped the weapon back into her lap and groped to one side for its scabbard; finding it, she then picked Enserric back up again and slid it home, ignoring its protests that it didn't feel clean enough to be put back just yet, before glancing guiltily back up at Valen. To her relief, his attention was still firmly upon his armour, and counting her lucky stars that he had not noticed any of her attention and subsequent discomfiture, Jen then lay down on her bedroll, her back deliberately to him, and tried to get some sleep.

o0o

_The light is different… a real fire. Why can't I move? And who is this before me? A drow? Haughty…cruel… yet beautiful. Is this... amusement I feel? Amusement for what?_

"Whoever she is, I want her stopped!"

_She's speaking drow… but I don't understand drow. How come I can understand her?_

"Indeed, Valsharess…"

_Valsharess!__ This__ is the Valsharess? How is this possible? Where... who… am I?_

_And why does all of this amuse me?_

"Then find her!"

_A deep sense of self satisfaction again…tinged with anger this time, though. How dare she think herself above me? _

"I… cannot, Valsharess. Her way has been… hidden from me."

"How can that be?! Are you not Mephistopheles? How is that beyond your scope?"

_Ahhh, fury. Stupid, arrogant mortal. Fury I can use. All in good time…_

"She has… protection."

"_Protection?!_ Protection from whom?"

_Unsure. She has gained favour of a powerful force… but who – or what…_

"Answer me!"

_Anger. Suppressed fury. Just wait until the time is nigh – my freedom from this bondage means your death, little mortal. One way or another, by my hand or hers, you die…_

o0o

"Jenalil…"

Feeling a soft shove to her shoulder, the half elf awoke with a violent start and instinctively dug under the backpack she was using as a makeshift pillow for her dagger, a feeling of acute confusion threatening to overwhelm her. Panicking slightly that she had not placed a readily available weapon under her improvised headrest, she fought to focus upon the person who had awoken her and shake off the nagging feeling that she was somewhere – and someone – else entirely. Blinking rapidly, the unsettling sensation slowly bled away when she realised that she had been dreaming, and peering up, she could now see that it was a familiar face who was crouched beside her.

"Are you awake? It is our turn to watch," Valen enquired curtly, and without waiting to see if she was following, stood up and made his way to the cavern entrance. Picking herself up from the floor, Jen stretched briefly at an attempt to work out the kinks in her back, noticing as she did so that Tsabandiir and Rizonym had returned to the quiet sanctuary of the cave and were settling themselves down onto their bedrolls, conversing quietly in drow. Bending over, the half elf reached down, retrieved Enserric and buckled the sword to her hip before following the tiefling out of the narrow cave entrance, all the while being careful not to tread on any of the slumbering drow around her, whilst the two now silent drow males watched her from the shadows.

Exiting the cavern, she found the Weapon Master silently surveying the area in front of them, his face a picture of concentration. Following his lead, she did the same, but upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she looked briefly to the warrior, a quizzical look upon her face.

Seemingly satisfied that no one was about to leap out upon them and that Rizonym and Tsabandiir had actually done their job properly as opposed to bringing the armies of the Valsharess in their entirety upon them, Valen nodded with a soft grunt before leaving the edge of the scree once more. He then left the half elf's side and, making himself comfortable against one of the boulders that littered the cave entrance with Devil's Bane across his knees, he regarded Jen silently with barely veiled contempt.

Sighing inwardly, Jen decided that she wasn't going to follow and sit with him after all; she had hoped that she could take advantage of this situation to build a few bridges with the obstinate tiefling, but from his expression alone, she guessed that he had obviously arranged for them to watch together simply so that he could keep an eye on her and therefore assuage his own sense of paranoia that she would betray them all in some way. Resigning herself to a particularly long and uncomfortable watch (especially when she took into consideration her earlier, rather unbecoming interest in him), she made her way to another boulder the other side of the small plateau they currently inhabited and sank to the floor, deciding to try to analyse what she remembered of the dream she had just had rather than devote any more time and effort to the Weapon Master.

In all truth, she could only remember snippets of the dream, but one thing stood out to her – somehow, her mind had conjured up the Valsharess… at least, she thought it was her mind; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake that niggling feeling that she had witnessed an actual exchange between the drow queen and persons unknown.

_Mephistopheles…_

The name came to her in a flash, causing her to snap her head up and frown. Where did that name come from? And why did she feel as if she had heard that name before? Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she decided that it was all down to the strange, déjà vu-like quality of the dream, and whilst she wouldn't dismiss it entirely, it probably wasn't worth worrying about.

Probably.

She tried harder for a long while to try to remember any more of the dream, but rather than anything coherent, she could only conjure vague feelings of smug satisfaction mixed with abject, all encompassing anger; giving it up as a bad job, Jen sighed heavily and stared moodily out over the scree in front of her.

o0o

Valen had already been awake when Tsabandiir crept silently back into the cave to awaken him for his watch – truth was, he hadn't really slept, just dozed enough to keep exhaustion at bay. He knew he couldn't keep this up – he would have to sleep properly at some point, but for now, apart from Nathyrra, he was surrounded by people he didn't particularly trust, and that was enough to prevent him from truly finding sleep.

He had nodded silently to Tsabandiir as the drow male moved closer; seeing that the tiefling was already awake, the drow cleric had simply inclined his head in return and then left to retrieve his mate who was still guarding the cave entrance, whilst Valen has donned his armour as quickly and quietly as he could. Once he had done this, he then stepped carefully over to where the half elf was sleeping – and by the looks of her twitching, dreaming – and crouched down beside her.

For reasons unknown even to himself, the tiefling had not shaken her awake straight away; instead, he watched her for a moment. She was undoubtedly in the throes of a rather vivid dream, because as he watched, her eyes had flickered open a few times and she had twitched almost convulsively as she muttered something under her breath. Leaning in closer so he could try to make out what it was she was saying, he had been surprised to discover that she seemed to be talking in drow, a language that he thought she had little to no knowledge of; he had then tried to make sense of what she was actually saying, but that had proven to be something the tiefling could not quite make out. Shaking his head, he had then stretched out a hand and almost gingerly touched her shoulder, calling her name softly as he did so, trying to wake her as gently as possible.

It had taken a few attempts to get her to surface from her dream-world, and when she had done, it had been with a distinct level of violence. This had rocked the Weapon Master back onto his heels briefly as he remembered her boast from earlier that she always concealed a good dagger underneath her pillow; however, it seemed that she had forgotten to do so in this instance, and so he had simply stood up and left her to orientate herself and join him outside in her own time.

Upon leaving the confines of the cavern, Valen out of sheer habit spent a few moments surveying the immediate area for any possible threats. After a few moments, he had heard soft footfalls behind him, heralding the arrival of the half elf, but he did not turn around to greet her - exactly why, though, he couldn't quite say.

Stepping up to his side, the rogue had copied him in his scrutiny of the surroundings; seeing nothing, she had looked at him with one eyebrow raised in a silent question. To this, he had simply nodded, momentarily unsure of what to say; he had never been a great conversationalist, and so rather than drag out an awkward moment, he decided to leave the edge of the scree and make himself comfortable in preparation for the next few hours ahead.

Rather than follow him, though, Jenalil had simply watched; feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he had simply stared back at her, unsure of exactly what she wanted of him. It was then that she had given him a little, hurt look, and after turning away, had made herself comfortable against a boulder as far away from him as possible.

Shaking his head imperceptibly, he sighed to himself. Obviously she was still smarting over his harsh words from before. He had hoped that his assistance in climbing the scree would have been enough of an apology for her to realise that he did not want her to fail; obviously, this was not the case. Feeling a familiar flicker of resentment ignite deep within him, he dropped Devil's Bane from his lap and, laying his weapon upon the ground beside him, drew his legs up so that he could rest his forearms upon this knees and glower at her over the top of them, almost like a barricade.

Damn the wench! Why did it matter what she thought? And why did it bother him so much? He had known her barely a day... a day in which she had usurped him of everything. By rights, he should hate her! Instead, he found himself feeling bad about hurting her feelings and, even more worryingly, being inexplicably drawn to her, although exactly why was anyone's guess. Taking a few minutes to regard her from under his scowling brow, he tried to fathom what it was that made her so special, but simply couldn't. Half his height and probably a third of his weight, she wasn't particularly threatening, nor was she an obviously natural born leader; she doubted herself too much, and was altogether too trusting for his liking. And whilst undoubtedly comely, she was hardly the dark, knowing beauty that haunted the more fevered and decidedly debauched recesses of his imagination. As a fighter she was in his opinion merely adequate - graceful, yes, but lacking in the sheer raw power that made a truly spectacular warrior...

... and yet, she had that very same day ambushed – and fought - him willingly and with no real indications of fear, showing a sense of courage – and possibly recklessness – that he could at the very least appreciate.

And the Seer believed in her.

Resting his chin upon his forearms, he sighed ruefully and allowed the scowl to slip from his face as he continued to watch her, now more with curiosity than any real sense of malice. Glancing around himself to ensure that no one had woken up and decided to join them undertake their watch, he knew instinctively what he had to do; standing up with Devil's Bane in one hand, the tiefling then made his way hesitantly over to where the half elf was sitting.

o0o

Engrossed as she was with trying to remember her dream and getting more and more frustrated as the details slipped out of her grasp, Jen didn't immediately notice the tiefling approach her; indeed, it wasn't until he sat next to her, causing her to jump a little in surprise, that she realised he had left his spot and made his way over to her. Unsure as to why he had decided join her, but expecting some kind of chastisement for not concentrating and allowing him to creep up on her the way he had done, she steeled herself against yet more disapproval; however, to her further surprise, it did not happen.

Glancing up at Valen, the half elf saw that the tiefling was not looking at her; instead, he was gazing over the scree with an impassive expression on his face. Fully expecting him to turn tail and leave as soon as he had checked up on her ability to actually do her job properly, he surprised her once again when, rather than leaving, he sat down heavily next to her without saying a word.

For a long while, the rogue and the Weapon Master sat side by side, neither one of them even attempting to acknowledge the other's existence, but each one acutely aware the uncomfortable tension that was growing between them nonetheless. Jen, who was unused to basically ignoring people sat right next to her, considered trying to spark up a conversation a couple of times, simply to put an end to the now deafening silence that was between them, but each time went to open her mouth, something stopped her from forming the right words; she even considered just standing up and leaving, but what ever it was that inexplicably hung between them stopped her.

They sat like that for what felt like an age until Valen decided to reach into his beltpouch and drew out a small pewter flask. Unscrewing the top, he took a small swig from it before offering it wordlessly to Jen; glancing over at him, she regarded his stoic profile before accepting it without a word – if he wasn't willing to break the silence, then neither was she. Bringing the canteen to her lips, she took a small swallow and consequently nearly choked on the fiery liquid contained within.

"The drow make it," Valen commented in a low, deadpan voice, still refusing to look at her directly. "Normally, I don't condone its usage and would definitely punish anyone caught drinking it on watch, but I thought that after the day we've had today..." he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders.

Jen didn't really know how to reply to this comment, unsure of exactly what he meant it, but after her other dealings with the tiefling, she had to admit that she was absolutely sure it was in some way as a barb aimed at her.

"Oh."

She offered the canteen back to him.

"Thank you."

The tiefling accepted it back without another word and took another swallow, grimacing slightly as he did so before offering it back to Jen again.

Unsure of what his goal was in all of this, the half elf hesitated in taking the flask again, an action which eventually forced Valen to look at her for the first time since he had sat down next to her. At her apparent refusal, the tiefling cocked an eyebrow.

"It's okay. I'm not going to discipline you for drinking on duty." As if to prove his point, he took another swallow. "Anyway, you're in charge now. If anything, you should be disciplining me."

Although he had obviously intended his comment as an attempt at levity, there was an unmistakeable edge of bitterness to Valen's voice that only served to make Jen wince inwardly. At her silence, the tiefling then looked away again, this time in embarrassment.

"That was supposed to be a joke..."

Now feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Jen just nodded and turned her attention to her fingernails, unsure of what to say next. Once again, the two of them sat in silence, carefully making sure they weren't meeting the other's eyes in any way possible, until the rogue felt a soft nudge to her right arm; glancing around at the Weapon Master again, she found him offering her the flask once more; this time, however, she got the distinct feeling that he was being genuine in his gesture rather than using it as a kind of test, and so accepted it was a small smile of thanks. It was a small smile that Valen found himself involuntarily echoing, and so rather than instantly looking away, the tiefling watched her as she took another sip.

This time, Jen was expecting the liquor's fiery bite and so managed to to swallow without the need to cough; as the warmth of the liquid seeped through her body she felt herself relax a little, and the silence that had now reasserted itself between them, whilst not exactly comfortable, somehow felt a little more companionable than before.

After this last exchange of the canteen, Valen sighed ruefully and tucked it back in to is beltpouch.

"Not much left and I don't know when I'll get any more." He offered Jen a curious half smile. "Imloth gets it for me – if the troops knew..."

"I can imagine," Jen replied, with a smile of her own. "'Do as I say, not as I do' and all of that..."

At this, the tiefling only nodded, but it held an air of amusement rather than annoyance at her comment.

The silence returned once again.

"... It must..." Jen started, before stopping with a slight blush.

Valen turned his head to regard her once more. "It must what?"

It was Jen's turn to shake her head. "Nothing. Forget it."

The tiefling narrowed his ice-blue eyes at her. "No... what were you going to say?"

Now feeling slightly trapped, Jen shrugged her shoulders nervously.

"I was just thinking out loud. That's all."

"Oh." His narrowed eyes took on more mischievous cast. "In that case, what 'must'?"

Jen felt her blush deepen slightly. "It's nothing!"

"Indeed..."

Jen sighed and rolled her eyes in resignation. "Okay... I was just going to say that it... it must get pretty, well, lonely, being the one in charge all the time, unable to join in with the troops and always having to be the one issuing orders..."

Immediately, whatever rapport that the two of them had tentatively built up evaporated away to virtually nothing as Valen's face clouded over and hardened once again. Cursing herself, Jen wished she could take the question back and pretend it had never been asked in the first place, but it was too late; standing up with Devil's Bane in one hand, Valen began to make his way back to the cave entrance.

"Probably time to wake up the next watch," he commented curtly, without turning around. "I think we've been out here long enough."

Nodding dumbly, Jen stood up with a small sigh. She considered apologising, but deep down she knew it was futile... and anyway, why should she apologise? She hadn't done anything wrong, after all. Straightening up, the half elf flipped her braid back over her shoulder in a gesture of sudden defiance and began to make her own way to the cave entrance, determined to ignore the unpredictably irascible Weapon Master who now stood in front of it with his arms crossed over his chest. Refusing to be intimidated by him, she walked right up to him and, crossing her own arms over her chest, mirrored his body language right down to the slight scowl on his face in a wordless demand for him to move and let her through.

They stood, staring at one another for while before Valen relented; unfolding his arms, he stepped to one side and allowed her room to enter the cave. Feeling slightly triumphant at his apparent deference to her, she unfolded her own arms and strode past him, only for him to catch her lightly on the shoulder. Her immediate instinct was to pull back and snatch herself away from him, but instead, she forced herself to stop and, turning her head, simply regarded him with cold fury. To her surprise, however, his expression did not mirror hers – if anything, he looked surprisingly awkward and contrite.

"Earlier today... that drow... the ring you took from her... I should... I should never have..." he shook his head and sighed heavily. "You were not to know. I realise this, and I wanted you to know that."

With that, he let go of her arm and ducked through the cave entrance before she could say anything.

For a second, Jen simply stood there, stunned, before she found her voice again and called out to him as loudly as she dared.

"Valen!"

The retreating figure in front of her paused for a moment, but did not turn around.

Hugging her arms around herself, the rogue ducked through the cave entrance to stand beside the warrior. Then, reaching out with one hand, she touched him lightly upon the forearm.

"Apology accepted."

For a long moment, Valen just stared at her hand upon his arm before glancing up and nodding. He held her soft hazel eyes with his ice blue ones for a moment longer and then, without saying another word, pulled himself away from her and went to awaken the next watch.


	15. Comfort

_Gah, this chapter was hell... and ended up being totally different from the plan I wrote. I had to start it 4 times before I got this down – sorry, just lots more drow twitterings. I wanted to get Jehk'ril more into the picture, and he just bloody well went and took over, didn't he?! _

_Also changing the certificate to M, simply because things possibly heat up a bit on all fronts from now on in..._

_Ely_

_xx_

Chapter 15 - Comfort  


_Again... _

_A sense of heat... a whiff of brimstone... a fire, burning brightly in the gloom. Beneath. A dim light... nothing distinct. Nothing clear. Just... feelings. Malevolence. Anger._

_And... something else?_

_Interest..._

o0o

Jen awoke abruptly, her eyes snapping open as she flung herself forwards with a gasp. For some odd reason, she felt as if she had been running, exerting herself somehow... Taking a moment to orientate herself, the half elf lay back down upon her bedroll and tried to calm her rapid breathing and racing heart; as reason eventually began to reassert itself, she felt both subside at little and so she sat up again, pausing a second to pass a trembling hand over her damp brow, shivering slightly as a trickle of cold sweat tracked a glistening trail down the side of her neck and between her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she glanced around herself, trying to ascertain the source of her unease, even though she knew deep down that it was the dream again and nothing present in the cave.

As before, she had no real idea as to what the dream was about, nor what it meant, but nevertheless it left her feeling decidedly off balance; not exactly frightened, as if she had experienced a nightmare, but rather... unsettled.

Glancing around herself, the half elf checked to see if she had inadvertently awoken anyone before carefully untangling herself from her bedroll. Standing up, she could then see that there were only four slumbering forms currently inhabiting the caves besides herself; the larger one that was slumped slightly awkwardly against the back wall of the cavern was obviously Valen; the smaller, huddled lump nearest to her could be none other than Deekin, whereas she had to make an approximation as to who the other two were from their location upon the floor: Jen guessed one was Nathyrra and the other, Xen'shai. This led her to surmise that it was time for Jehk'ril and Szinaufein's watch, and that Rizonym and Tsabandiir had obviously awoken early and decided to leave the cave for one reason or another. This realisation made the half elf feel a little uneasy, for although Rizonym had shown her nothing but support and deference, Tsabandiir had shown her nothing but disdain, and she had to admit that if she had to pick out one of the drow she travelled with as one to watch carefully for any possible treachery, it would have been the clerically minded rogue.

After reaching down for Enserric, she picked her way silently to the cavern entrance and ducked under the overhang that protected and disguised it from prying eyes, making her way outside. In roughly same spot where she and the Weapon Master had sat together a few hours earlier, Jehk'ril and Szinaufein now lounged, both of them conversing quietly in drow. At her approach, they both looked up; although she hadn't been making a concious effort to move quietly, Jen knew that her footfalls were naturally light enough for her to creep past most surface races unnoticed, but this just wasn't the case with the drow.

As she moved closer, Jehk'ril inclined his head towards her, the smile that played along his lips eerily similar to that of his half brother's; Szinaufein, however, smiled broadly and genuinely at her approach, and gestured with one hand that she should join them if she so wished. Returning his smile she prepared to sit, just as Jehk'ril stood up, offering her a small bow.

"Jallil d'Ssussun..." he murmured under his breath, before mirroring the younger drow's gesture.

Shooting Szinaufein a slightly incredulous look, the half elf sank to the ground, crossing her legs underneath her as she did; Jehk'ril then sat down next to her, so that she was sitting in between the two drow males. Now feeling decidedly uncomfortable and wondering exactly why she had decided that joining the two drow was a good idea, she smiled nervously but brightly firstly at Jehk'ril and then at Szinaufein, all of a sudden at a loss for words.

"Why do you join us so early? We have a little while to go before we need to go... you should rest some more," Jehk'ril said, his tone oozing nothing but concern. "You still look weary..."

Jen shrugged a little. "I couldn't sleep. I... haven't had a very good night at all." She stopped, looking a little confused. "Even if it is night. I can't tell down here."

Jehk'ril smiled. "Ahh... yes, it must be confusing. You haven't really had time to adapt to the passage of time here – obviously, we have no sun to mark the passage of time, and so rely on other points of reference. It is understandable; you will get used to it, though."

"Usstan inbal neitar keffal l'sssiks..." Szinaufein interjected. "No... look sssiks... sun. No... Night Above." He screwed his face up for a moment, obviously trying to translate what he wanted to say in a way Jen would understand. "Surface. No there I go." He then smiled hopefully at Jen, hoping she had understood him. "Hard you find it here in Har'oloth. Me... kampi'un. Hardful."

Not for the first time, Jen wished that she understood at least a few words of the drow language; the young male was obviously trying very hard to learn Common, and she could guess at the reasons why. "You've never been to the surface? Is that what you're trying to say? That you've never seen the sun?" she asked, hoping she had translated his rather broken speech correctly and that he could understand more than he could speak.

Looking confused, Szinaufein glanced momentarily towards Jehk'ril, who muttered a few words to him in drow; realisation dawned across his features as a grin broke across his face. "Yes. You... fast speech. For me hardful. Yes?"

"You speak too quickly for him to follow," Jehk'ril translated. "He has only been learning your speech for a few tendays. As soon as the Seer's prophecy became common knowledge, in fact."

"Only a few tendays?" Jen gave the young male an impressed look. "You know a lot. Good!" She spoke slowly, hoping that Szinaufein would understand her this time.

The young drow followed her words, mouthing them carefully, before pausing to think. He then treated her to one of his genuinely open, heart-warming smiles; mirroring it, Jen wondered how the Underdark had bred such an obviously sweet soul... and if it hadn't been for the Seer, how long it would have been before it had been beaten out of him in one way or another. "I am thanking of you! I try good. I try good speech." He then frowned a little. "Speech hardful to screa... to, uh, think?"

"You mean 'learn', Szinaufein." Jehk'ril gave the younger drow an indulgent smile.

"Yes. Learn. I learn good, no?"

"You learn very well!" Jen agreed with a nod. "Kind of puts me to shame... I should learn some drow." She nudged the younger male. "Maybe we could learn together? I teach you Common, you teach me drow?"

At that, Jehk'ril chuckled good naturedly. "That is a lovely sentiment, Jallil d'Ssussun, but I fear it would be impractical, rather like the blind leading the blind!" He then leant forward and rested a hand upon her forearm. "Any of us here would be only too pleased to teach you our language; all you have to do is ask."

Pulling her arm back a little, Jen's smile took on a nervous edge. "Thank you, Jehk'ril; that is good to know..."

Jehk'ril's smile deepened. "We are all here to help you in one way or another, Jenalil... in whatever way you should wish..."

Although the sentiment of the mage's words were innocent enough, she thought she caught a slightly sinister edge to his intonation; reminding herself that, when all was said and done, Jehk'ril was Xen'shai's younger brother and had obviously learned a few tricks from him when it came to controlling people and getting what he wanted, Jen continued to smile back as she pulled her arm completely from his grasp. "Thank you, Jehk'ril. I will bear that in mind." She then deliberately looked at Szinaufein. "Where are Tsabandiir and Rizonym?"

"Nind ssinssrinil fol draeval ul'naus... alone-time," the younger drow shrugged.

"Alone time?" Jen echoed, a little confused.

"Yes. Szinaufein is correct – they wanted some time to themselves." The mage quirked an eyebrow. "Sometimes, people need their space."

"Space? To do what?"

Both the drow then gave the half elf an incredulous look.

"Il anikazhaun? Lu'oh 'udtila il naut u'thet? _Z_hah il naut'kyn?" Szinaufein asked eventually.

"Kyreshorlh naut..." Jehk'ril raised his eyebrows for a split second in disbelief. "Jenalil... I would have thought it would be obvious."

Jen smiled a little helplessly. "What would be?"

At that, Szinaufein had to stifle a chuckle with one hand. "Xen'shai zhahus ditronw – il zhah bui vassnti."

At the mention of the Deathsinger's name, Jen gave Szinaufein a sharp look. "What was that about Xen'shai?"

"Nothing... Szinaufein is just commenting on how Xen'shai said you might not be familiar with certain facets of drow society, that is all," Jehk'ril interjected smoothly, his tone placating. "He finds it strange that Rizonym and Tsabandiir's relationship is not obvious to you, that is all."

"Rizonym and Tsabandiir's... relationship?" Jen couldn't disguise her surprise. "As in..." she allowed her sentence to trail off, not quite sure how to say what she wanted to express, and instead waved her hands around in a vague gesture that she hoped implied what she wanted to say, causing Jehk'ril and Szinaufein to laugh.

"If by all that random hand waving is supposed to imply that the two of them are lovers, then yes: you are correct." Jehk'ril's crimson eyes narrowed briefly in confusion. "Am I to take it that this state of affairs is not the norm on the surface?"

"Well, of course, it happens..." Jen started awkwardly, feeling the accursed blush creeping towards her neckline again. "But people aren't usually so, well, open about it. What goes on behind closed doors is their affair and no one else's, to be honest. I, err, take it that isn't necessarily the case down here?"

Jehk'ril shook his head. "Ussta Jallil, I am sorry; if I had known it would make you feel uncomfortable, I would not have said anything so candidly. It is not that unusual for males to seek some measure of comfort in one another; we live in a brutal society, dominated by brutal females who have been taught from an early age that they are superior to us in every way possible; we are little more than slaves."

Nodding, Szinaufein silently agreed with him, his countenance now grave. "Males, they worthless. Worthless iblith in eye of jalilen. Only good for fight, force pleasure and children."

Jen regarded the two males owlishly. "Really? Nathyrra told me that drow society was a matriarchy, but I didn't realise it was that bad..."

"No, Jenalil; it is worse." Jehk'ril shook his head sadly. "Very few males rise to any position of power, and so we remain downtrodden. Only a few of us are in the fortunate position to learn differently... and so we rebel, in whatever way we can." The drow's tone took on a careful edge. "We oppose the female's claims of total dominance, hence the reason we now side against the Valsharess. We do not wish to return to that way of life."

"I can't say I blame you!" Jen agreed fervently. "That's just... well, it's horrible! I know that some societies upon the surface don't exactly value women, but to actually make them second class citizens – or worse – I... I don't blame you for rebelling, I really don't." She then paused for a moment. "Were... were all of you treated badly? In the past, before you found the Seer?"

Taking a deep breath, Jehk'ril closed his eyes for a second before giving her a curt nod. "At the time, you do not necessarily realise what is happening to you- that is just how life is, after all – but once you have had your eyes opened..."

Shaking her head, the half elf looked firstly at Jehk'ril, and then to Szinaufein; the older drow still had his eyes closed, his head bowed, whilst the younger drow just gave her a sad, almost wistful look.

"I'm... I'm so sorry... I didn't realise..."

"Why should you know? Why should you care? We are all but drow to you..." Jehk'ril's voice now had an almost husky edge to it that tugged hard at Jen's heartstrings; swallowing hard, she glanced at Szinaufein again, who was now looking towards the floor, all trace of his former good-natured humour all but lost. Impulsively she reaching out, seeking the young male's hand; upon finding it she clasped in in hers and squeezed it tightly in a gesture of solidarity. This caused Szinaufein to look up and offer a small smile of gratitude as he leant in closer to her and laid his head a little hesitantly upon her shoulder.

Jen's first instinct at this gesture was to push the young ranger away, but she quickly fought down the impulse when she realised that he was merely seeking some level of reassurance from her, and in making himself vulnerable in such a way, he was in turn showing her that he trusted her, which then made her smile. Accepting the young drow's embrace, the half elf allowed herself to rest her cheek upon the top of his snowy head; it was then that she felt an arm snake around her waist. Stiffening slightly, she raised her head and turned to regard Jehk'ril, who simply regarded her back solemnly before he inclined his head nearer to hers. Leaning back slightly from the older drow, she felt her heart sink as a look of confusion and abject hurt flitted momentarily across the mage's handsome features as he pulled back from her and hugged his knees close to him; it was obvious that in his eyes, she had accepted Szinaufein and rejected him, which in a way, was true - Szinaufein was younger, closer she guessed in age to her younger brother than herself, and so his seeking of comfort felt more... natural to her than Jehk'ril's. Feeling slightly ashamed that she had spurned his gesture of trust whilst accepting his friend's, Jen shifted her weight towards the other male. At this, Szinaufein raised his head, allowing Jen to reach up and lay a hand upon Jehk'ril's shoulder; at first, the mage ignored her, his face hidden in the circle of his arms, but after a short moment, his ebon hand appeared from underneath the sheet of his braided silver hair and covered hers. He then gingerly lifted his head and unfolded himself from the protective ball he had curled himself up into and allowed Jen to pull him into a brief, loose, one-armed embrace. Szinaufein then shuffled closer and rest his head once again upon her shoulder, whilst Jehk'ril laid his cheek upon the top of her chestnut head, one arm around her shoulders so that his hand rested upon the ranger's shoulder opposite him.

Slowly, Jen made herself relax; having gone from never talking to a drow on a civil level to being sandwiched between two of them in a little over one day was quite overwhelming, but she felt deep down that this was important; they were merely seeking comfort and reassurance from her – or so she believed.

If she had seen the small, decidedly self satisfied smirk that played along Jehk'ril's lips, however, she may have changed her mind.

o0o

Stretching and yawning widely, Deekin awoke from a largely satisfying night's sleep. Pushing himself to his knees, he could see that the goatman was still snoozing in what looked like the most uncomfortable position known to man - and kobold - kind; from the sound of his snoring, though, it seemed that the horned warrior was quite happy to sleep in such a way, and who was Deekin to judge how a man with a tail and horns made himself comfortable, anyway?

Looking around himself, he tried to spy his Boss, but to no avail. Feeling a little panicky, the little kobold crawled over to her bedroll and laid a clawed hand upon it: cold. Still, her backpack was still there... sword gone, though. Hopping up, the bard scampered off towards the cave entrance, weaving in between the slumbering forms of two drow carefully as not to wake them.

He didn't have to duck under the overhang that protected the cave entrance, and so he crept directly out on to the plateau, only to be greeted by the sight of his boss covered in drow. Pulling himself up short, the kobold examined the scene in front of him: were they attacking boss? Or were they...

Frowning slightly, Deekin cleared his throat nervously.

"Uh, Boss...?"

At his interruption, all three figures turned his way; out of all of them, only Jen jumped slightly, though. Disentangling herself from the two males, the half elf quickly stood up, looking a little embarrassed, and smiled sheepishly at him.

"Morning, Deek! Uh, Jehk'ril and Szinaufein were just telling me all about what it's like to be a drow male down here; it's not very nice, you see, and so they were explaining that, uh, they were saying that... umm..."

Deekin's brows drew closer as his frown deepened.

"Deekin not hear voices..."

"Well, no, that was before. They just needed a hug. Like you do, sometimes. You know, when you're feeling a bit scared..."

"Drow males get scared like kobolds?" Deekin asked, a little sceptically.

Jen glanced down at Jehk'ril, who now looked mortally offended.

"No... no, they don't," Jen replied quickly, hoping to scrabble out of the hole she had now dug for herself, wondering all along why she felt she had to lie about the reason the drow had sought comfort from her. "It's... complicated. Don't worry about it." She then smiled at the little kobold. "Uh, best not to say anything to the others, though."

"Best not to say that Deekin sees mage and ranger give Boss cuddles?"

At his description, Jen couldn't help but wince slightly. "No cuddles were involved, Deekin... well, not in the way you're implying, anyway. If you were implying that. Were you implying that?" Jen shook her head. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. Just... don't say anything, okay?"

Deekin mirrored her head shaking, now supremely confused by everything. "Imply? Deekin... not imply anything of boss. Deekin..." the kobold paused. "Deekin not saying anything. It just easier that way."

Nodding her head gratefully, the half elf made her way over the her stalwart companion and patted him upon the shoulder. "Thank you, Deek. It is just... easier this way. Are the others up?"

Deekin shook his head. "Two drow still sleeping, as is goatman. Shoulds we go and wake them up?"

"It is probably for the best," Jehk'ril broke in over her left shoulder, causing Jen to jump a little again; she had not heard him stand up, let alone make his way towards her. "We should be away as quickly as we can. We have spent long enough now in one place; our luck can only hold out so long." He looked over to Szinaufein. "Szinaufein, dos alu lu'ragarrl whol Tsabandiir lu'Rizonym; Usstan zhal alu lu'guuan ussta dalninuk."

At this, Szinaufein nodded, got to his feet and left.

Jehk'ril then gestured towards the cavern.

"Shall we?"

o0o

It took them only a short while to get ready to leave; after a frugal breakfast consisting of unleavened bread and rothe jerky, the small party was soon back on the road. After carefully climbing back down the scree, with Rizonym once again carrying Deekin, just in case, Nathyrra and Szinaufein volunteered to scout ahead to make sure their path was secure. Desperately wanting make herself useful and have something to concentrate on other than the bewildering array of confessions and emotions that had been displayed during their rest period, Jen volunteered to go with them; at first, Nathyrra seemed a little unsure of this, but relented anyway.

Leaving instructions with a rather more dour than usual Valen to wait until they returned or heard the signal otherwise, Jen, Nathyrra and Szinaufein set off towards the tunnel. Even though they travelled closely together, it took all of the half elf's concentration to be able to pinpoint exactly where the ranger and the assassin were at any one time; deciding that although she was an expert at stealth upon the surface, she was clearly outclassed here and so Jen quickly relented and cast a spell of invisibility upon herself so that she only had to concentrate upon being silent.

It didn't take them long to find themselves at the end of the tunnel; creeping silently and carefully forwards, Nathyrra was the first to peer around the edge of the tunnel entrance. Upon seeing nothing, she gestured towards the rogue and the ranger, who obediently followed her, still making sure that they were being as equally careful as the assassin.

Upon entering the main tunnel, Jen dropped her invisibility spell so that she could interact freely with her two comrades. It was decided that Jen and Nathyrra would scout further up the tunnel to make sure that the coast was clear whilst Szinaufein checked the area for any tracks; if the Valsharess had indeed been nearby at all, they wanted to know.

Leaving the ranger, the two females pressed on, each taking a different direction. Sticking carefully to the tunnel wall, Jen crept slowly and silently along, her senses attuned for any thing that might be conceived as out of the ordinary in this most alien of places. It didn't take her too long to reach where the tunnel opened out a little, and it was clear to her that there was nothing of consequence there; nodding to herself, the half elf turned and began to creep back.

It didn't take her very long to make her way back to where Szinaufein was still inspecting the floor for tracks; Nathyrra arrived soon afterwards, shaking her head, indicating that as far as she was concerned, there was nothing up ahead. Szinaufein, however, had definitely found something; the two females allowed him time to search as thoroughly as he pleased before he straightened up, his expression grim.

After a rapid exchange of drow, Nathyrra frowned, looking equally concerned.

"Szinaufein says that there has definitely been traffic since we stopped to rest; a sizeable troop made mainly of duergar passed by here only a few hours ago. He says that although they are faint compared to the other tracks, there is also evidence that drow travelled with these duergar, which can only mean one thing..."

"...the Valsharess," Jen finished.

"Yes." Nathyrra's lips were a tight, straight line. "They aren't immediately up ahead, so we're hoping that they have just passed through, but we cannot be too careful; we'll just have to make sure we move away from this location with extra caution. Hopefully, their troops will be nowhere to be seen... but you know how it is. We can't risk it." She glanced towards the tunnel where they had left the rest of their party. "Come on; the sooner we're out of here, the better."

o0o

Watching the retreating forms of the two drow and the half elf melting into the shadows of the tunnel up ahead, Jehk'ril took a moment to glance around himself before he stepped lightly to his half brother's side. Quirking one snowy eyebrow, the mage gestured slightly with his head that he wished to speak with the Deathsinger in confidence; upon seeing the mage's signal, Xen'shai looked surreptitiously towards the tiefling who, in the absence of the half elf, had assumed the role of party leader. Luckily, the Weapon Master was more preoccupied with watching the tunnel entrance than the members of his own little ragtag group, and so the two drow took the opportunity to step back into the shadows slightly, where they could converse in relative safety.

"Well?" Xen'shai asked.

"I had a chance to... speak with the half elf earlier," Jehk'ril answered. "It seems things are even better than we suspected."

"Oh?" The Deathsinger gave his brother a quizzical look. "How so?"

"She wanted to know about drow society; I told her about we males are treated." Jehk'ril paused.

"Yes? And?" Xen'shai asked, his tone impatient. "What of it?"

"She was sympathetic to our plight; Szinaufein played his part admirably. The youth has potential."

"He should do; I hand picked him." the drow bard stroked his chin with one long finger. "You say she is sympathetic? How do you know?"

Jehk'ril allowed himself a rather self indulgent smile. "She is completely ruled by her heart. Spin a sob story and she melts... it was almost too easy. For some reason, she also seems to care what you think; Szinaufein commented that she is indeed as innocent as you suspected; although she does not understand drow yet, she picked up on your name and wanted to know what it was you said."

At that little revelation, it was Xen'shai's turn to smile indulgently. "Excellent." He nodded. "Excellent..."

"Oh, it gets better..." Jehk'ril's tone now held an almost juicy edge to it as he relayed the events of his watch, delighting in the details as his brother's grin stretched wider and even more shark-like.

"And she allowed you to do this... she even instigated it on her part... because you made her feel _sorry_ for you?"

Jehk'ril nodded eagerly. "Xen'shai, I have never seen a female react this way in all my life... by the Shadow, she was ripe! If it was not for the fact that people were awakening, Szinaufein and I... we could have had her. She is a complete innocent; she knows nothing of subterfuge, nor seduction - we could have..."

"That is not want the Masked Lord wants quite yet, Jehk'ril," Xen'shai interjected, his tone a little sharp. "She must trust us. Using her that way... as pleasant a way to pass the time as it may be, it would only serve against us. Surfacer females have... odd notions attached to such unions. She would have felt used, and we would have been back to square one." He shook his head thoughtfully. "No... it is better this way. She believes you and Szinaufein sought comfort and reassurance from her; this fits nicely in with her role as 'saviour', and makes her sympathetic to our cause. She needs to believe she had some modicum of control when it comes to her dealings with us – that way she will believe that her choice to support us is actually that – a choice. That she is by our – by my – side willingly."

The Deathsinger then patted the mage upon his shoulder.

"You have done well... very well. Do not doubt: you shall be rewarded..."


	16. Claustrophobia

_This chapter was hellish to write - I want to move time on, but I keep getting bogged down with too much detail. I promise; we'll get to Zorvak'Mur by chapter 20 at the latest (even if it kills me...)_  


Chapter 16 – Claustrophobia

It hadn't taken long for the three advance scouts to melt into the gloom of the tunnel ahead of them, leaving Valen feeling ever so slightly apprehensive; his mind kept flicking back to the memory of the half elf revealing the ring she had taken, making him fret that if the Valsharess had indeed decided to investigate the death of one of her precious Red Sisters, the whole area could now feasibly be swarming with drow patrols – something he had no doubt Nathyrra and Szinaufein could deal with easily... but Jenalil? As a surfacer, even he could see she was talented in stealth simply by the careful way she moved, but compared to the drow, she was as a stumbling, clumsy child. When she had volunteered to go with the assassin and the ranger, he had almost stepped up and tried to stop her, but considering he had no doubt in his mind that she would misconstrue his concern as some kind of challenge or insult regarding her abilities, he decided to keep quiet and just be prepared to mop up any mess that may come from what he saw as a rather ill-conceived plan instead.

Although aware that the remaining drow were spending the time waiting muttering amongst themselves, the truth was that the tiefling was largely ignoring them; their conversation simply did not interest him, mainly because he was more preoccupied with what was going on inside his own head to worry about what might be going on inside theirs. Glowering moodily at the tunnel entrance and wishing fervently that they could do away with all this cloak and dagger nonsense, the Weapon Master actually found himself hoping that they would come to blows with something soon; a good fight would give him something other than recent events to concentrate on... events that were now chasing themselves within the confines of his head, no matter how much he willed them to stop and leave him be.

He hadn't told Nathyrra about anything that had transpired during his watch, even though she had asked; all he had spared her was a grunt and a cynical look when she had enquired - half in amusement, half in genuine concern - how much he had managed to upset their surfacer companion. She had tried to engage him in further conversation, but he had simply ignored any further probing; he had no doubt the drow female would interrogate the half elf once they had started off properly and so decided to leave it up to her, but even so, it still bothered him to the point where he had even considered having a quiet word with Jenalil about it... but that would then mean admitting that she - for good or ill - was playing upon his mind more than he wished to admit to anyone, including himself, at that point. Shaking his head with a frown, the tiefling then began to pace, unconsciously testing the weight of Devil's Bane in his hands – a sure sign that he was preoccupied - and found himself rather unwillingly considering the question that she had asked him only a few hours before... a question that he had so vehemently reacted to at the time.

The tiefling wished that he could claim complete ignorance as to why he had reacted in such a way, and if anyone did question him about it, he knew he would deny any knowledge of the reasons, but truth was, he knew only too well. Put simply, no one had ever dared to ask him such a question before; he had created an image of himself – that of a fearsome, tireless, terrifying part demon who brokered no mercy to his friends and foes alike- and he projected this to the drow collective at all times. He had found it necessary to allow his demonic side to dominate when dealing with the common drow troops simply to ensure that they followed his orders without question, but it did mean that apart from the very few he allowed closer – not close, however; that would simply be foolish – most drow simply thought of him as a growling, breathing, walking weapon. Most of the time, that suited him down to the ground, but there was the occasional moment, when he was truly alone...

Snorting to himself, the tiefling chastised himself for allowing himself to even entertain such thoughts, stopped pacing and straightened himself up, fixed his full attention upon the tunnel mouth once again, awaiting their return. Such thoughts, he mused grimly, made you weak... made you vulnerable. Therefore it was best not to think. Concentrate on the fight.

One way or another, it would be all over soon.

o0o

"And?"

The Weapon Master couldn't deny the relief he felt upon seeing all three scouts return unscathed, but the grim expressions upon their faces quickly smothered it. At his question, Nathyrra glanced towards the half elf before answering, as if seeking permission; as small a gesture as this was, the Weapon Master couldn't help but notice it, and conversely a small part of him still couldn't help but seethe silently that after a mere day, the assassin – one of the Seer's most trusted agents – was deferring to the surfacer rogue so readily.

"Well?"

Valen allowed a sense of his impatience and irritability at being kept in the dark with regards to their position to seep into his tone, hoping that it would speed up what was turning into a particularly painful exchange. The Weapon Master did not understand why the drow always seemed to act this way; always measuring every word as if they were precious, or as if they were acting upon some kind of stage, playing for dramatic pauses.

Thankfully, Nathyrra spoke up almost immediately, mollifying the impatient tiefling somewhat.

"There isn't anything out there right now. As far as we can see, no one lies in wait for us."

"Good. Then we should go before someone does decide to..."

"... I haven't finished, Valen," Nathyrra interrupted, gesturing briefly towards Szinaufein. "Upon checking for any potential traffic during the period of our rest, Szinaufein found extensive evidence of a sizeable troop passing near here. Duergar, mainly, but definitely with a drow entourage."

The tiefling's initial hopeful stance evaporated away almost instantaneously.

"The Valsharess."

"Yes. We have no doubt – duergar being led by drow? It cannot be anything else."

"Damn." Valen dragged a hand through his crimson hair, a sure sign that he was nervous. "I didn't think they knew about this particular tunnel."

"Don't blame yourself," Nathyrra interjected. "I doubt there are many places around here that the local defected drow don't know about... and what they know, the Valsharess inevitably knows. I suppose we should just count ourselves lucky that they just passed through, rather than spending time to investigate."

"Is there any evidence to suggest that they were following us?" For a split second, the tiefling glanced at Jenalil, who at least had the courtesy to look uncomfortable."

"No; they were coming down the tunnel. I would hazard a guess that they were heading towards the waterfall, not away from it."

"They're checking, just like you said they would," Jenalil added in a small voice, her tone contrite.

At this, Nathyrra gave the half elf an odd, searching look before turning back to regard the Weapon Master.

"Why do you say that?"

"It doesn't matter." Valen shook his head, fixing the half elf briefly with his ice-blue eyes before training his attention back on to the assassin. "It was only a matter of time before they heard rumour of our passage, anyway. The longer they believe we are just another patrol the better, really... we'll just have to be extra vigilant from now on." He then turned to the rest of the drow. "We need to move out. Silence is the watchword. Let's go."

o0o

Falling into their usual marching order, the small ragtag group cautiously made their way through the low ceilinged tunnel and back out to the much wider passageway beyond; pointing out his findings, Szinaufein indicated to where he had spotted the multitude of footprints with a grave expression upon his face. Nodding grimly amongst themselves, the other drow could do nothing but agree with him; the troop that had passed by was indeed sizeable, and obviously confident enough not to worry too much about hiding their passage.

Pushing onwards, nobody spoke much, their conversation restricted to a few murmured comments passed back up and down the line with regards to obstacles up ahead, and the mood within the small party quickly plummeted. Out of habit more than anything else, Deekin had taken his little lyre from his back and strummed a few upbeat chords, hoping to improve the party demeanour, but was soon silenced by a stony glare from Valen, who was walking just ahead of the kobold. Turning back, Deekin had given Jen a wide eyed, pleading look, but rather than giving him the response he so obviously craved, Jen had given the little kobold a grim look and a little shake of her head, indicating that this really wasn't the time for any kind of jollity.

It didn't take long for the small party to reach the end of the passage; Jen thought she had hated the close, claustrophobic confines of the tunnel, but as soon as they left it, the half elf found herself feeling more vulnerable than ever as they hugged the wall of the massive cavern they had entered.

Everything was silent; even in the most desolate of places upon the surface there would have been the sound of local wildlife: birdsong, the rustle of leaves as the wind danced through them, the chirrup of insects... but down here, literally nothing stirred, and Jen found that it unnerved her almost beyond endurance. Ahead of her, the drow, so obviously in their element, floated like wraith over the difficult terrain, never once leaving any trace of their passing, but their confidence only left the half elf feeling worse as she began to resent their graceful poise and the fact that they were so obviously at home in this most hostile of environments.

After a while, the half elf began to get the niggling feeling that she was being watched upon all sides; glancing at the others, however, she could see from their steady progress that they obviously did not feel the same way. Drawing Enserric, she answered his usual bloodthirsty greeting with a rather panicky mental whisper, demanding that the sword shut up and listen; shocked that his usually buoyant wielder was so obviously worried and anxious, the sword uncharacteristically quietened down without an argument whilst the half elf assuaged her own sense of acute paranoia by commanding the blade to see if it could sense any potential threats nearby.

Hearing a sword being drawn behind him, Valen glanced over his shoulder and felt a flicker of concern ripple through him when he saw the wide eyed, hunted look of naked fear upon Jenalil's face. Frowning slightly, the tiefling picked up his pace a little until he drew next to Nathyrra; bowing his head, he murmured a few words into the drow female's sharply pointed ear. She then gave him an apprehensive look of her own back before glancing back to the unsuspecting surfacer rogue; nodding almost imperceptibly, the assassin acknowledged the Weapon Master's concern and then raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question: do you wish me to speak to her?

Pursing his lips into a thin line, the tiefling shook his head, dropping back to his place further back in line without another word, this time drawing closer to the half elf. At first she did not act as if she had noticed his closer proximity, her eyes still darting from left to right is if trying to spot some hard-to-discern-foe, but she did not jump when Valen touched her shoulder gently, leaving the tiefling in no doubt that she knew he was there all along, increasing his own worry that their current situation was affecting Jenalil in a not entirely healthy way.

o0o

They travelled like this for a good few more hours before it became apparent that they needed to seek a place to rest again. Not wanting to rest in the relative open, the small band sought out as deep an overhang as they could find; remembering his last encounter within such a location, Deekin tugged upon Jen's sleeve, his eyes wide, but he needn't have bothered; taking the lead, Valen and Rizonym ducked under the rock, their weapons drawn, ready to rout out any potential threats, but met nothing of concern other than a few unpleasant looking centipedes and a large yet harmless spider.

Flinging the arachnid over his shoulder, Rizonym obviously did not think that anyone could fear such creatures; unfortunately, however, Jen wasn't too far behind him. Although she managed to dodge the spider, she couldn't help but let out an involuntary squeak as she did. Realising what she had done, she clapped a hand over her own mouth and regarded each member of her surprised looking party one by one with large, frightened eyes before Nathyrra stepped up and led her away gently whilst Valen took it upon himself to stomp upon the spider with a sickening squelch.

"Are you all right?" the drow asked, concerned.

"Yes! Yes... fine... I'm okay... not big on spiders, I must admit, but I'm fine... I am, really!" Jen jabbered back, nodding her head a little too readily.

Frowning, Nathyrra extended a hand and touched Jen on the arm, which made the half elf smile nervously; even through the toughened leather of her bracers, the drow could feel the half elf trembling, making Jen jerk her arm back.

"I... I'm sorry. I'm trying, I really am. I thought I had it sorted, but..." Jen began sheepishly. Smiling, Nathyrra shook her head, indicating that she had no need to apologise, but still the half elf ploughed on. "I can handle the tunnels now... but these wide, open caverns... they're a bit unnerving. So quiet... it just felt like we were being watched all the time. The spider was kind of the last straw..."

"It's okay, Jen – I know you might find this hard to believe, but I do understand." At Jen's look of cynicism, Nathyrra couldn't help but grin. "No, seriously! You should have seen me the first time I went to the surface – I only went there once, but that was enough! So many noises... the wind... the weather..." she shivered at the memory. "I found it very alien and unnerving; I was just relieved to get back to the Underdark, if I'm honest." She then gave Jen a decidedly conspiratorial look. "I've never told anyone that before... so if it gets out, I'll know it's you, okay?"

Covering her mouth, Jen nodded as she stifled a giggle. "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me." She then gave Nathyrra a grateful look and took both her hands into her own. "Thanks."

For along moment, the drow looked at her dark hands clasped by the half elf's pale ones, as if unsure of what to make of the gesture. She then slowly looked up as a smile spread across her face.

"There is no need to apologise, Jen; it's a pleasure. It truly is."

o0o

After sorting out a watch rota and settling down, the night passed largely uneventfully. Jen had ended up paired with Nathyrra, and the two females had passed the time conversing quietly, with Nathyrra carefully avoiding any subject that might pertain to their quest and therefore unnerve the half elf again; instead, the drow told Jen tales of Eilistraee and her teachings, whilst the rogue told Nathyrra about her life upon the surface. Although the general atmosphere was tense, Jen found herself relaxing in the assassin's company, and by the time it was their time to return to the overhang and try to rest, she felt a lot better. Passing Xen'shai and Szinaufein as they made their way to their watch as she retired from hers, she had smiled quite genuinely at the two of them; at that, both of them had exchanged a slightly incredulous look before smiling back, Xen'shai taking the opportunity to clasp her hand briefly with his as he moved past her. At this, Jen's new found good humour caused her to chuckle and swat at him playfully; the Deathsinger's smile had then deepened into a grin as he sidestepped the good humoured assault whist tipping the half elf a rather cheeky wink.

Determined to put as many miles as they could behind them, the small group quickly ate a simple breakfast and waited for Jehk'ril to cast his spells for the day before they set off once again. Again, they walked as close to the cavern wall as possible before Szinaufein led them to what looked like a rather well-worn path; cautiously, the ranger skirted this before quickly following it up and over a large granite extrusion that would have proven almost impossible to climb swiftly without some kind of magical assistance.

Once he had confirmed that all was indeed clear, the young drow signalled that they could all follow him, and one by one, the party hastened along the path, aware that if they were going to be seen, this would be the place. Once they all reached the top, they quickly ducked and made their way towards the rocks that bordered the edge of the plateau. Again, Jen began to feel the familiar creeping sensation that she was being watched, but this time she was ready for it and was determined not to let it affect her the way it had done the day before.

Suddenly, every single drow member of the party dropped to the floor; crouching, they huddled against the boulders that skirted their chosen path, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. Confused, the half elf did the same, dragging Deekin down with her, giving him a whispered instruction to ready an invisibility spell should he need it. She then looked up, searching for the others; to her alarm, she could see that the drow were perfectly camouflaged, their hiding skills so honed that unless you already knew they were there, you could have passed within a cat's whisker of any one of them and not known they were there, but Valen, on the other hand, stood out like a proverbial sore thumb.

Realising that there was now something seriously wrong, Jen carefully crept out from her hiding place and sneaked silently to where the tiefling was crouching. Before reaching him, however, she risked everything and glanced ahead.

What she saw nearly stopped her dead in her tracks.

There must have been at least thirty dwarven figures marching in formation along the path that cut across the plateau, each one dressed in the same red and black uniform. Behind them stalked a dozen or so drow, three of whom were dressed in a markedly different way from the others; immediately, Jen recognised their uniform as the same as the one the Red Sister she had killed a few days earlier had worn. Even more terrifying, alongside the drow floated two monstrous aberrations; bloated sacks of flesh dominated by one, huge eyeball above a massive, sharp-toothed maw, their body mass surrounded by tentacles tipped with bloodshot eyes: Beholders.

Muttering an invisibility spell under her breath, the half elf knew she only had time to cast one spell before the battalion in front of them drew too near for her to risk speaking out loud; deciding to trust in her own abilities, Jen dove behind the Weapon Master and slapped a hand upon his shoulder. Before she discharged the spell, she caught a glimpse of his half-surprised, half furious visage, but deciding to ignore this, she muttered the last arcane syllable, causing the tall tiefling to disappear from sight.

"What in the hells do you think you are doing?!" Valen hissed angrily under his breath; although Jen could not see him, she could feel his breath against her left cheek, leading her to believe that he had turned around.

Running her hand down from his shoulder to his wrist, the half elf crouched, dragging the Weapon Master down with her.

"Possibly saving your life," she breathed in response, flattening herself against the rock they shared. "You were standing out like an orc at a beauty pageant... you would have been seen."

She heard a snort. "And your problem with that is?"

Jen gave the air in front of her an incredulous look. "I don't know; how about the massive battalion coming our way?"

"We could take them."

"Are you mad? Stop thinking with your weapon, Valen – we wouldn't stand a chance. The drow realise that. We don't even have a strategy!"

"We do – we ambush them."

Carefully, the half elf inched her head up to that she could peer over the boulder. The first line of duergar were now within a few steps of their position; ducking back down, Jen didn't even bother to reply and just shook her head, keeping a firm grasp on Valen's invisible wrist.

Even though there were nigh on fifty members of the troop ahead of them, they hardly made a sound as they marched over the stony surface of the plateau. Jen had expected to be able to hear the heavy tread of boots, but the duergar were nearly as silent as the drow in their movements; she watched, mesmerised, as the first line of deep dwarves strode by, each one carrying a heavy, deadly looking battleaxe. She felt Valen tense in front of her, but thankfully he did not move nor try to wrench his wrist free from her grasp; instead, she felt a strange, hot, pulsating sensation almost throb through the studded leather of his gauntlet.

Shooting the tiefling an incredulous look and letting out an involuntary gasp, the half elf almost jerked her hand back away from the tiefling as she felt a surge of hot anger sweep over her body; for a split second, she wanted nothing more than to jump up and bury her sword to the hilt in an unsuspecting duergar's back. Although the sensation was similar in intent to that of Enserric, it actually felt totally different; where the sword coerced her and rewarded her by stealing her foe's life force and bestowing it upon her, this was far more instinctual, and spoke of nothing more than deep, deep fury and a bloodlust that terrified her in its intensity.

Suddenly, as if sensing this, one of the duergar stopped.

Holding her breath, Jen silently mouthed a prayer to Mystra; feeling Valen shift his weight in front of her, she tried to prevent him from pulling himself from her grasp, but she may as well have tried to hold back the sea. Her heart in her mouth, the half elf waited with an acute sense of dread for the tiefling to lunge forward and bury his flail into the skull of the nearest dwarf, but instead she felt him slowly shuffle silently backwards, his invisible body causing her to inch herself back and around the rock she was hiding behind, consequently ensuring that she was totally out of the line of sight of the duergar in front of them.

Striding forwards, one of the drow struck out savagely with the handle of a cruel looking whip and hissed a few words at the dwarf; refusing to be cowed by her, the duergar took the blow stoically and answered her in a deep, gravelly voice. Snorting, the drow female then barked something at the other duergar, obviously asking a question; none of them answered. She then sneered at the dwarf who had stopped and suddenly lashed out, her whip connecting with the duergar with a resounding crack.

Without further ado, the battalion then began to move once again, and Jen began to breathe.

o0o

No one moved for a long while after the battalion had moved on, simply because no one wanted to risk one of the troop looking back and spotting them. Jen did, however, drop the invisibility spell that she had cast upon Valen; seeing his thunderous expression, she hugged her arms around herself, remembering that flash of pure, unfettered fury she had felt pouring off him and not wanting to bear the brunt of it in any way, before she slunk away towards where the drow were now gathering, going via Deekin to check and make sure the little kobold was okay.

At last, the small group gathered together in the lee of a particularly large boulder, utilising it as a way to shield themselves from any prying eyes as much as possible. As she approached, she saw straight away that every single one of them looked decidedly grim and a little shaken, and none of them seemingly willing to be the one who spoke first.

In the end, it was the half elf who decided to break the silence.

"Why did that duergar stop?"

"He commented that he might have heard something," answered Jehk'ril, his tone heavy.

Jen thought back to her own involuntary gasp and cringed.

"Why didn't the Red Sister believe him?"

At that, every drow apart from Xen'shai turned to regard Jen curiously.

"How did you know what was a Red Sister?" Nathyrra asked, a touch of accusation in her voice. "We haven't come across any Red Sisters yet."

At this, Jen stopped, unsure of what to say; before she could find the right words, however, Valen answered for her.

"Jenalil knows because she met and killed one the day she was affected by the umberhulk's gaze, remember?"

Nathyrra gave the half elf a shrewd look before nodding.

"Of course... I had forgotten. Quite an achievement."

Saying nothing, Jen just nodded.

"You seem ashamed of defeating her... why?"

Looking up, Jen exchanged a look at first with Valen, and then with Xen'shai.

"I... I took a ring from her corpse. I didn't know it was the way the Valsharess tracked her troops."

Nathyrra's cynicism was quickly replaced by a look of horror.

"You didn't wear it..."

"No, she did not," interrupted Xen'shai, stepping forward so that he was standing by Jen's right side. "Surely you wouldn't think she'd be so stupid as to wear something so obviously magical when she didn't it's properties and capabilities?"

The indignation that thrummed through the drow male's tone caused Nathyrra to drop her head and nod, as is seeking an apology from the half elf; however, rather than making her feel better, it actually made Jen feel slightly worse.

"Nathyrra... please..."

"Why didn't we just take that battalion out?" Valen interrupted, his tone clipped with barely restrained fury.

Switching her attention from the rogue, Nathyrra regarded the Weapon Master incredulously.

"What? Because that would have been lunacy! We would have needed a whole battalion of our own to face that lot!"

The tiefling snorted in contempt. "I have taken on larger troops of devils with less demons at my back than we have in this group now... we could have taken them. We had the element of surprise on our hands – we could have decimated their numbers before they even realised what was going on!"

"Errdegah-chath, we realise that you revel in battle and not in stealth, but even you must realise that would not have been a wise course of action..."

"Why, Xen'shai? Because it would have meant you might have been forced to fight and put that soft hide of yours on the line?"

The Deathsinger's countenance hardened. "Nothing of the sort, Shadowbreath – it is more that we would have been out numbered nearly ten to one, and so any attempt in taking down a force that size would have been tantamount to suicide."

Nathyrra nodded.

"As much as I hate to admit it, he's right,Valen..."

Now nearly growling in fury, the part demon rounded on the female drow.

"They were marching in the direction of Lith My'athar! We are sworn in its defence; we should have at least tried! Even if we had been routed, it would have meant less of them had a chance to fight against us in the long run. What is the point of us trying to diminish the number of allies the Valsharess has is we just let half of them march past us unchallenged?"

At this, Nathyrra's own temper flared up.

"Do you not think I realise where they were headed? Yes, we are out here to try to break alliances... which we can't do if we are all but slaughtered by the first battalion we come across! We have to think of the bigger picture, Valen! Let Imloth deal with the troops that come and threaten the city now – he is more than capable – and allow us to concentrate on reducing the source of the Valsharess' power."

Wincing at the vicious edge to both the Weapon Master's and the assassin's voices, Jen tried to interject.

"Nathyrra... Valen... please, don't figh-"

"Let _Imloth_ deal with this? Is that all you have to say?" Valen exploded, blatantly ignoring the half elf's attempts at calming the situation. "I have fought too long in the defence of the Seer and of the people of Lith My'athar to just hand over all responsibility to someone else, Nathyrra! You _know_ this!"

"Of course I know this! You insult me by insinuating that I don't! But you forget that I have also fought for the good of Lith My'athar longer than you have!"

"In terms of time, maybe, but I have stood my ground defending her walls more times than you can count! I don't think I could bear it if those walls fell whilst I was out here on some fool's errand!"

"Really? A fool's errand, you say? If you truly feel that way, then go back to Lith My'athar!"

There was a stunned silence at this. Realising what she had said, the former Red Sister took a step backwards, dismay written across her face as Valen's cerulean eyes widened in shock. Before she could say another word, however, the tiefling turned sharply upon one heel, and without saying anything, marched away from the group in the same direction as the Valsharess' battalion.


	17. Allegiances

_(pats muse on head) Good muse! You shall have a cookie!_

_Now, please, let me sleep somewhere __**other**__ than Lith My'athar..._

Chapter 17 – Allegiances

For a long while after Nathyrra's outburst, all the small group could do was watch the retreating form of Valen in shocked silence as the tiefling strode away from them, his tail lashing violently from side to side. Looking stricken, Nathyrra glanced apologetically at Jen before she took off after him, but even at a run, the irascible Weapon Master had disappeared from view before she managed to crest the ridge they had just climbed. Bewildered, the half elf exchanged looks with the grim looking drow who had now assembled in a loose semi-circle around her; making to follow the assassin, she was immediately stopped by Xen'shai, who caught her gently but firmly by the shoulder.

Spinning around, a look of annoyance plain upon her face as she regarded the assembled drow, her demand that they let her go died upon her lips when she saw their determined yet grave expressions.

"Nathyrra must deal with this," Xen'shai said, whilst the other drow nodded in agreement. "If you get involved you will be undermining her, and she will never forgive you for that – and neither will the Errdegah-chath."

Jen didn't reply and just stared apprehensively up the now empty path where the assassin had followed the Weapon Master only moments before.

"Xen'shai is right – it is the drow way," agreed Rizonym in a low rumble, whilst Tsabandiir, Szinaufein and Jehk'ril nodded solemnly in accordance.

"But if he leaves..." Jen began, her attention still focused upon the empty trail.

"Then that is his choice, Jallil d'Ssussun," countered Xen'shai. "You cannot force him to stay with us."

"But..."

The Deathsinger shook his head. "Jenalil – I am sure that if you petitioned the Seer, she could command the Errdegah-chath to stay and fight alongside us... but what purpose would that serve? He resents your usurping of his position enough already; how do you think he will react if you command him to travel with you? Especially if Lith My'athar is actually assaulted whilst we are away?"

Drawing closer to the half elf, the drow bard squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her before raising a hesitant hand to gently brush away a wayward lock of chestnut hair that had escaped her braid.

"We shall have to do our best on our own, Jenalil," he murmured."I know it is not ideal, but... I... we will stand by you."

Glancing up, Jen could only see genuine concern in Xen'shai's jade green eyes; this in turn caused a ghost of a smile to grace her lips as she nodded gratefully at first to him, and then to the others.

The remainder of the small band fell into silence again, each one watching the road with a preoccupied air about them. It took all of Jen's self restraint to stop herself from running after Nathyrra anyway and offer to lend her support to try to make the difficult tiefling who was such a valuable member of their party to see sense; that without him, without his strength, he was condemning them all to possible failure – and therefore Lith My'athar as well. They all knew that despite their best efforts, there was no way that their small fortress could stand against the full might of the Valsharess, and the half elf refused to entertain the thought that the Weapon Master couldn't see this.

They had to succeed, otherwise all was lost.

o0o

Feeling supremely angry with herself, Nathyrra hurried after the now distant form of the Weapon Master, his longer strides meaning she was eventually forced to run to catch up with him. By the time she reached him, her anger had blossomed and spread to encompass stubborn, intractable tieflings as well as her inability to keep her thoughts to herself in the heat of an argument that she knew could inevitably only go sour.

"Valen!" the drow commanded, her voice tight with barely controlled fury as she drew level with him. "What in the hells are you doing?"

The tiefling did not stop, nor turn around.

"Going back to defend Lith My'athar, just like you so kindly suggested."

"You know I said that merely out of temper!" Nathyrra near yelled, completely exasperated by his continuing obstinate attitude, even though she was aware that such an action in the Underdark was less than wise. "You know the reason why the Seer was only more than happy to let you go on this mission!" She ran up behind again and grabbed him by the shoulder, attempting to spin him around and force him to face her, but failing miserably against his superior weight and strength.

As if determined to ignore her no matter what, Valen took a few more steps before it became apparent that she wasn't going to let go, and that he would have to stop or run the risk of pulling her over; whirling around, he turned on the assassin, his eyes two orbs of ice-blue fire as he threw her backwards from him with such force the usually nimble drow actually stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding falling upon the floor.

"I am not a lapdog – a lackey to command!" he roared, advancing upon the drow's staggering form with Devil's Bane in his hand. "I have been pushed from pillar to post too much over the last few days, taking orders from a mere chit of a girl, running myself ragged after this stupid, asinine vision!" He stopped advancing to tower over the crouching assassin. "And now it has got to the point where this same vision may cost us even more – it may cost us Lith My'athar itself! I cannot... _will _not allow that to come to pass!"

Quickly finding her feet once again, Nathyrra strode forwards until she stood nearly nose to nose with the Weapon Master, refusing to be intimidated by him, her own fury at his selfish stubbornness finally giving way.

"Don't give me that!" she hissed back venomously. "This has nothing to do with Lith My'athar, and you damn well know it! Don't you dare use the city – use Mother Seer – to cover up your own insecurities!"

"What?!_ Insecurities?!_ I don't know what you are talking about - this has _everything_ to do with Lith My'athar!" Valen exploded back incredulously. "I have sacrificed _everything_ for the Seer and this fight, and I will take down anyone who says otherwise!"

"And no one denies that!" the assassin retorted back. "But this, right here, right now, has nothing to do with those reasons. You've been acting like an umberhulk with a sore head since you first were told of this vision – and you've done nothing but get worse as time has gone by; you've treated Jen abominably when all she has given you is respect, might I hasten to add – proving that you are just annoyed now because you feel as if you have been tossed aside in favour of her, but if you only looked an inch farther than the end of your own maudlin sense of self pity, you'd see that this just isn't the case! The vision, the Valsharess, Jen... they're not the problem here – _you _are!"

Valen's cerulean eyes widened in shock at Nathyrra's words,and for a moment he had to fight down the very strong urge to punch her squarely in the mouth, just to stop her from spouting any more uncomfortable home truths that he didn't want to acknowledge, let alone admit to, quite yet. Instead, rather than doing something he later regretted, the Weapon Master turned abruptly away from her and began once again to march away.

"Fine!" Nathyrra sneered after him. "Run back to Lith My'athar! Run back so that you can play at being commander again, if it makes you feel more of a man! It won't change anything; whether you like it or not, Jenalil is going to succeed in this mission because I am going to make sure she does, even if it is just out of sheer spite so that she can come back and save your sorry tailed backside!"

With that, the drow assassin span upon one heel and marched back the way she had come without a backwards glance, leaving the tiefling to his conscience.

o0o

The passage of time was still something that Jen found hard to measure in the Underdark; as much as she tried to count the seconds that ostensibly ticked by, it wasn't long before she lost count, and so this time she didn't even bother to try – this time, she simply watched and waited, trying to battle the sinking feeling in her gut that told her things were not going at all to plan.

The small band had moved away from the main path in fear that they would be spotted if they continued to loiter near the open, and so were now sheltering by a large stand of rocks, loose debris from some past titanic earth movement, relics of a time when this part of the Underdark flowed with thick, hot lava. Listening carefully for any hint of Nathyrra's – and hopefully, Valen's – return, the half elf was surprised to find that everything wasn't nearly as silent nor as still as she once had thought. It then dawned upon her that she was beginning to attune herself to the local environment; whereas before, she had heard nothing, she could now sense the high-pitched squeak of a hunting bat overhead and the soft scratching sound of something crawling over the rocks nearby. Glancing up and ahead, she could clearly see the shadowy form of Szinaufein, who had insisted on waiting nearer the path for Nathyrra to return, obviously concerned that she might worry if she couldn't spot them upon the path – again, the rogue was surprised to find that she didn't have to concentrate as hard to spot the motionless ranger; it was then that she realised she was becoming acclimatised to the Underdark in every way possible, not just her hearing.

She wasn't entirely sure whether this was a good thing or not.

In the distance, the shadows suddenly shifted slightly and soon coalesced into the form of a female drow; drawing Enserric, Jen tensed, ready to strike, until she realised that it was indeed Nathyrra returning. Straining her magically enhanced vision, the half elf tried desperately to see if Valen was following her, but to her dismay, the tiefling did not materialise. Shaking her head in disbelief that he would actually abandon them in this way, Jen ran forward to meet Nathyrra just as Szinaufein stepped out of the murk to greet her; drawing closer, there was no mistaking the look of thunderous fury upon the assassin's face, making the rogue pull up short.

"What happened?" she asked as the female drow strode up to her, all but ignoring Szinaufein. Sensing movement behind her, the half elf glanced back over one shoulder, only to see that the rest of the drow had also moved closer.

Looking back, Nathyrra offered Jen a furious look.

"He won't come back – his pride is too great," she spat, almost incandescent with rage. "He would rather condemn us than accept that he is no longer solely in charge."

"But that's ridiculous!" Jen exclaimed. "What does he think this is going to achieve?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," the assassin replied. "I am sorry - I know I never should have said what I did, but his... his... petty, idiotic stubbornness is just too much sometimes!"

Pausing, Jen looked grimly to the floor before shaking her head and resting a hand upon Enserric's pommel, the surge of bloodlust that she felt from the sword lending strength to her conviction.

"It's about time he learned that this situation isn't about him," the half elf muttered through gritted teeth. "I'm going to speak with him."

"Jallil d'Ssussun!" Xen'shai exclaimed from behind her. "I am not sure that is wise; we already waste time here, and the Errdegah-chath could be miles away by now..."

"I don't care, Xen'shai," Jen interrupted, her tone resolute. "As much as I hate to admit it, our chances of succeeding are far greater with him at our backs than without. And since his problem seems to be with me rather than the situation as a whole, it would be my fault if we failed, and I'd never be able to forgive myself-"

"Never say that!" Nathyrra interjected vehemently, her crimson eyes flashing. "We _won't _fail!"

" -_but if we do_," Jen continued firmly "I want it to be down to overwhelming odds and_ not _due to overwhelming arrogance." She then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, as if daring any of them to argue with her before striding past Nathyrra, who now wore a decidedly sceptical look upon her obsidian face whilst Deekin peered nervously out from behind her.

"Boss..."

Closing her eyes, Jen stopped.

"Stay here, Deekin. Either which way, I won't be long."

"But Boss... what happen if something bad happens?" the little kobold asked, his reptilian eyes huge on their sockets. "Boss needs Deekin just in case-"

"No, Deekin – you can't help here. Stay with Nathyrra."

"But..."

"Deekin!" Jen commanded, hating herself for having to reprimand her stalwart companion in this way.

Bowing his head, Deekin clutched his crossbow to him and have her a small nod. "Okay. Deekin understands. Deekin not like it, but Deekin understands. Boss be careful... okay?"

Jen gave the kobold a small smile before departing.

"I'll try."

o0o

Jogging along the track, Jen wondered for the first time whether her decision to try to talk sense into the petulant tiefling was actually wise. Although she preferred to err upon the side of optimism when dealing with other people, she did wonder if this time she truly had bitten off more than she could comfortably chew in trying to convince him to see sense as she made her way down the side of yet another massive slump of ancient lava. Truth was, as angry as she was with him, the tiefling still made her nervous; if he decided to turn upon her, she knew there was nothing she could do to defend herself against his wrath – a wrath she had now felt first hand, albeit unwittingly – but even so, she knew almost instinctively that in order for things to work in their favour, he needed to be with them, her personal safety be damned.

Crouching down to study the dusty path for any evidence of his passing, the half elf had to admit to herself that she was finding it hard to track the Weapon Master; for all his disdain for all things stealthy, he obviously knew and recognised the importance of disguising his passage. The tracks of the battalion that had passed them merely an hour before, however, were still very fresh and easy to follow; blowing a recalcitrant lock of hair from her face in sheer frustration, Jen decided that her best course of action was to simply track the battalion, since she had no doubt that was what the tiefling was doing. Straightening up, she steeled herself and began to run swiftly forward again, taking all the precautions she could to ensure she wasn't seen without sacrificing her speed.

Reaching the top of another outcrop, the half elf risked all to stand atop it and survey the cavern below; shielding her eyes with one hand to help her focus more, she felt a small jolt from the region of her stomach when she spotted movement in the distance. Leaning forwards a little as if that would help, she strained her vision to make out that the shape below her was indeed humanoid – and wearing armour that held a curiously green sheen to it. Looking around herself, Jen studied the path that snaked down the side of the outcrop and then out over the middle of the cavern, meandering around huge stalagmites and boulders and realised with a distinct sinking feeling that if she went that way, there was a good chance that the tiefling would remain out of reach; slowly, she turned back to look down the side of the outcrop, a decidedly stupid idea forming in her mind.

The side of the granite extrusion was steep, but not insurmountable; if she cast featherfall upon herself just in case she slipped...

Nodding grimly to herself, the half elf gave the decision no further though, and leaping forwards, began to hop down the side of the outcrop, her superior dexterity meaning that although it was hard work to keep her balance, it was not impossible. Luckily, the rocky extrusion was steep enough to not carry too much extraneous loose debris, and so although a few loose stones clattered past her as she leaped from one small ledge to another, she thankfully did not start a rock fall.

It didn't take long for her to reach the cavern floor, which she hit at a dead run; panting, she forcibly slowed her forward momentum and dragged a leather-clad forearm across her sweating brow before picking up the pace once more and making her way in the general direction she last saw the tiefling heading.

For a little while, the half elf wondered if her normally acute sense of direction had failed her as she threaded through stands of densely growing fungi and towering stalagmites, praying all along that her gamble would pay off and that she wouldn't meet anything that wished to challenge her on her way – a prayer that seemed to be answered as she finally met the main pathway again, a good mile or so shaved off her pursuit. Looking ahead, she couldn't see Valen, but she for some reason, she got the feeling that he was indeed ahead, and so trotting forwards at a comfortable pace, she continued her hunt.

After only a short while, Jen could clearly see a solitary figure striding ahead of her; instantly recognisable by his height, gait and distinctive apparel, the half elf knew that it was Valen. Rather than slowing her pace, the rogue ran to catchup with him, hissing his name as loudly as she dared, hoping her would hear her without her having to shout.

If the tiefling had heard her, he made no sign; exasperated, Jen scanned the sides of the path for a decent sized rock, which she flung as hard as she could out of sheer temper at his stalking form ahead of her, not caring whether it hit him or not. As soon as the stone had left her hand, she instantly regretted it; she was here to try to build bridges, not destroy them. Luckily, her aim proved rather erratic and the rock sailed past the tiefling's left ear, barely missing it, before it struck the ground with a dull thud and rolled a few feet to a standstill. At this, the tiefling spun around, his flail ready in his hands, a look of unbridled fury twisting his features into something feral and frightening.

"WHAT?!" he roared, either deciding that he no longer cared about being heard, or simply that his temper was so riled that he couldn't help but shout. "What in all the Abyss do you want now, Nathy-" He stopped, catching himself when he realised who it was that was now pursuing him: it was the half elf, looking dishevelled and panting a little as if she had been running, and not the drow that he had been expecting.

"I do not wish to speak to you," the tiefling deadpanned before turning away and beginning to walk once again. _I can't talk to you. Not now._

"Then today really isn't your lucky day!" Jen snapped back at him, running up behind him, fighting down the very real urge to kick him. "Because I want to speak to you!"

Rolling his eyes, the Weapon Master stopped abruptly, causing Jen to nearly cannon into him and then whirled around once more. "Well? What does the mistress want?" he spat at her, animosity rolling off him in waves. "Come to call her lapdog to heel?"

"Stop it, Valen. Stop being so bloody dramatic." She paused of a moment to swipe the same recalcitrant lock of hair from her eyes and calm her breathing a little. "I've actually come to find out exactly why you think abandoning us on a hunch is such a good idea, that's all."

The tiefling's eyes narrowed dangerously at her words. "You come to ask me why I would leave on a hunch? Do you realise how ironic I find that statement, considering the reason I am here in the first place is down to a stupid hunch?" He took a step forward, making a menacing show of clenching and unclenching his hands around the handle of his weapon. "We had a chance to deplete the Valsharess' troops by one battalion back there, and we never took it – they are now heading towards the very city we have all sworn to protect above anything else." He then allowed himself a cruel chuckle that had nothing to do with humour. "Oh, no – sorry, my mistake; a city we have all sworn to protect – apart from you, that is. Now if you will excuse me..."

"You really, truly and honestly believe that?!" Jen asked, her scepticism plain. "You don't know that the battalion is heading towards Lith My'athar – we're in the middle of nowhere! There is still plenty of time for them to head elsewhere... and on that, you're quite happy to chase a possibility over a certainty?" she shook her head. "No, Valen... there's more to this. There's more to your reasoning. I know the thought of Lith My'athar being sacked worries you more than anything else, but the Seer is relying on us to succeed – and I know you wouldn't do anything to disappoint her - and yet you still run away from this responsibility like a frightened child. So what is it, Valen?" the rogue folded her arms over her chest. "What are you so frightened of that causes you to run back to your safety net?"

For a long while, Valen just stared at the half elf in complete and utter outraged disbelief before he made to leave again. This time, however, Jen was ready for him and his much tried-and-tested tactic of simply ignoring things he didn't want to face, and so thwarted his attempt to turn away from her by darting nimbly around him so that he was once again facing her.

"Well?" she demanded again, challenging him to answer her.

"Nothing frightens me, half elf: nothing!" he replied as coldly as he could, now deliberately trying to stare her down. "Nothing!"

_Except maybe you..._

The thought came from nowhere, and it caused the Weapon Master to drop his gaze in confusion for a split second... but it was a split second that the rogue couldn't help but notice and react to.

"What is it, Valen?" she asked softly, her former anger now having all but left her. "This isn't the first time you've avoided such a question... there is no weakness in talking to people, you know." She gave him a beseeching look. "We need you with us... I need you. I cannot do this alone."

"You have Nathyrra and the other drow," Valen replied gruffly, carefully avoiding all eye contact with the half elf. "They are more than capable. They will help you."

"Nathyrra, yes... but the others? Do you truly trust Xen'shai? Then there is the fact that you are the superior warrior – even Rizonym can't compare-"

"And so that is all I am to you? A strong arm? A walking weapon?" The sharp change in the tiefling's demeanor back to one of unbridled fury was swift and terrifying, causing Jen to rock back on her heels as she caught the full brunt of it. "Yet again, I am nothing more than a tool – a blade to be pointed at the enemy!"

"Valen..." Jen near pleaded, hoping to placate the volatile warrior. "That's not what I meant! I meant-"

"No, half elf – you made yourself plain!" He then towered over her once again, jabbing a gauntleted finger in the air in front of her chest. "If I am to be a weapon, then I will be one on my own terms – and that means in the defence of the walls of Lith My'athar, not to aide my clueless usurper on some mad faerie-chase!"

Shocked to the core by his accusation, Jen raised a hand and gave the tiefling a lightening fast slap so hard across his cheek that his stubble stung the palm of her hand. Although his eyes widened in shock at being struck so quickly, he did not flinch; instead he worked his jaw a couple of times, all the while glaring at the rogue.

"You've taken everything from me," he continued. "Everything-"

"What do you even mean by that?!" Jen interrupted, rubbing her hand at little. "Exactly _what_ have I taken from you, Valen?" She made a show of looking around herself. "Do you see the vast army I am at the head of? Do you see the heralds singing my name from the rooftops? Have you been reduced to merely following orders? Because if you can see all those things, I would really like you to point them out to me... as far as I can see, I've been roped into performing a task that you would liked to have performed a long time ago, but simply don't have the troops for; prophetical saviour or not, as far as I am concerned, I still feel like I am nothing more than convenient fodder." She then gave the tiefling a bitter look. "I ran after you because, as much as I hate to admit it right now, I feel our chances of success are far greater if you're with us. But you're right – I can't force you to come with us, and I'm not about to try. Go back to Lith My'athar if that is where you feel your skills will be most useful." Her look of bitterness then hardened into something that made the Weapon Master's heart sink. "Just make sure you are going back for practical reasons rather than simply because your pride has been injured; that is all I ask."

Gritting his teeth against the well of emotions she stirred within him, the Weapon Master regarded Jen for a long while before shaking his head.

"You don't understand. I don't expect you to understand." He turned away from her. "I'll see you back in Lith My'athar; I hope you succeed."

With that, the tiefling left, leaving a shocked Jen to simply stare after him.

o0o

Feeling a curious mixture of acute anger and intense regret, Jen didn't bother running after the tiefling again; not only would it have been futile, it would have been demeaning. Instead, she whirled around and ran back up the path, hoping to make the short journey back to the rest of her allies as quickly as she could, especially considering she had all but wasted an hour of their precious time already.

Sensing rather than hearing her retreating footsteps, Valen had paused and glanced over his shoulder.

_It's for the best. Staying would make you weak... she would weaken you. You know this. Best to stay strong. Focus on the fight. That is what is important._

Squaring his shoulders, the tiefling gave the now distant form of the half elf a final glance before continuing on his way back to Lith My'athar.


	18. Shades of Grey

_WARNING: This is a very long, very violent chapter, exploring facets of a certain character's personality that people may not be too comfortable with... but it is needed and is, I feel, justifiable._

Chapter 18 – Shades of Grey

Even though she employed similar tactics to before, it still took Jen longer to get back to the small party of drow waiting for her atop the plateau than she would have liked. All the while her mind kept flicking back to that last, fateful meeting and her simple disbelief that this was it; the tiefling was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. Scolding herself repeatedly for such maudlin thoughts, the half elf tried to focus upon the journey ahead of them, but to no avail; in the end, her rational side resigned itself to the fact that no matter how hard she tried, her emotional side would forever dominate and therefore it wasn't even worth her head trying to tell her heart that not everyone she travelled with would like her and that although they had lost a valuable ally, they had also removed what could have turned out to be a painful thorn in their small group's side.

As she approached the plateau, Nathyrra ran forward to greet her and asked her quickly how things had gone, concern colouring her voice; the half elf wished that she had better news, but instead she shook her head and relayed an abridged version of her discussion with the Weapon Master, finishing with how she had been unsuccessful in every attempt to convince him to stay with them. Nodding, Nathyrra had then given a heavy sigh and, not knowing what else to do, had ordered them all to move out; the illithid enclave of Zorvak'Mur was now close, and they had an alliance to break.

Making sure that everyone else was preoccupied with picking out the safest path along the narrow trail they now set along, Xen'shai had walked beside Jen and offered her a conciliatory smile, but the half elf wasn't in the mood to reciprocate and all but ignored him. Frowning slightly to himself, the Deathsinger had then rejoined his half brother and shared a few words with him before once again walking in silence.

They continued like this for half a day before the terrain once again grew rough and decidedly harder to traverse. Studying the debris that littered the floor, Jen was surprised to find that none of it was natural; every single last chunk looked like it was once a piece of masonry or a part of some massive statue. Seeing her interest, Jehk'ril wandered over to her side and began to tell her the tale of the sizeable city that had once been located here, but had disappeared in suspicious circumstances some seven centuries previously, and how some of the older drow who were but children at the time liked to spin yarns regarding how the area was haunted by the ghosts of the dark elves who died that fateful day.

Feeling a slight shiver travel up the length of her spine, Jen looked around herself, quite willing to believe how such stories originated; although she herself had spent some time upon the Plane of Shadow and had faced many different horrors in her time, there was something vaguely sinister – slightly more vaguely sinister than the Underdark norm anyway, she mused – about the atmosphere that surrounded the relics of the long lost ancient city. Shivering slightly, she slowly unsheathed Enserric, who immediately began to complain about being left in its scabbard for too long. Blocking out the sword's mental grumblings, the half elf began to pick her way through the destroyed remnants of the city; moving further in, she could now see the ancient, overgrown remains of what would once have been considered gracefully constructed buildings that were now reduced to nothing more than fractured shells, the occasional surviving stone carving the only testament to the city's former glory.

Crouching slightly, Deekin moved up to Jen's side, glancing all around himself in a hunted, skittish way, his crossbow at the ready.

"Boss... Deekin wonders why this place feels wrong."

"I know what you mean," Jen agreed, never taking her eyes off the shadows. "Something isn't right here..."

Suddenly, from behind her, she heard Tsabandiir hiss out what could only have been a warning in drow; spinning around, she was quick enough to only see something flit quickly by in the gloom to her left. Running back to the cleric, she quickly asked him what he had seen, but the Darkmask wouldn't answer her, offering her a sneering look instead.

Feeling her temper rising alongside a very real sense of panic that something was out there in the shadows, hunting them, Jen rounded on Tsabandiir, her hazel eyes harsh.

"What did you see?" she demanded through gritted teeth, his overt disdain causing her to swing Enserric up to point menacingly in the general direction of the cleric's throat.

Taking a step back, Tsabandiir offered her a hateful look before something else caught his eye; whatever it was, it caused him to then incline his head obsequiously to the half elf, before answering in his breathy, vaguely disturbing voice.

"L'veldrin mumbaro; Usstan ssiggrin Usstan kyor folbol..."

"In common!" Jen commanded, trying desperately not to sound shrill. "You know I don't speak much drow yet."

Giving her another look of extreme distaste, the Darkmask cleared his throat as if preparing to undertake some unpleasant task before speaking.

"The shadows – they move. I think I see something. Maybe wrong."

Glancing to where she was now certain she had seen something move in the murk, Jen shook her head slowly, dropping her voice to barely above a whisper.

"I don't think you were wrong... I think I saw something, too. Come on." She then lowered her sword and gestured with her free hand for him to follow her.

Crouching slightly, the two of them made their way over to where the shadows were at their deepest, but found nothing. Now feeling decidedly uneasy, Jen looked back to where the others were searching, before realising one thing:

She had forgotten to look up.

Enserric's mental shout nearly stunned her as the sword caused her to lunge forward instinctively; fighting to control the blade's almost overwhelming lust for blood-letting, Jen tried to discern whatever it was that had attempted to ambush her.

Descending from above, a flurry of claws ripped at her abdomen, forcing Jen to dance away from her assailant. Bringing Enserric to bear in front of her to deflect any more incoming attacks, she was sickened by the unmistakeable stench of the opened grave that surrounded her foe.

Now able to take a good look, the half elf could see that her attacker resembled a long-dead drow, its skin stretched tightly across its near skeletal form, its eyes staring white – both dead and wild with an insatiable need for her flesh. Letting out a disgusted bark, Jen fought to find her balance as another, half decayed form leapt out from behind a destroyed wall to the left of her, all vicious teeth and rending claws. Even though she dodged away, the ghast managed to grasp hold of her shoulders and attempted to drag her down with it, but as it did so, Jen frantically reversed the grip upon her blade and slammed it as hard as she could into the curiously tough flesh of the creature's torso, causing it to momentarily lose its grip on her.

Although Jen had fought various undead creatures in the past, there was something different – something stronger - about these specimens that kept her upon her toes and stopped her from being too complacent. Circling slowly, she waited for one of the ghasts to strike at her, but instead they seemed to be weighing her up, which was a behaviour she had never heard of when it came to the more mindless types of undead. Deciding to take the initiative, she slashed forwards with Enserric and struck the second ghast with such ferocity that, had it been alive, she would have slit its stomach open wide, but instead her attack did nothing more than cause a few ancient, near rotted entrails to splatter sickeningly upon the uneven stone floor; largely ignoring her attack, the ghast bounded forwards as if she had barely scratched it and attempted one again to grapple her to the ground.

Diving into a roll, Jen tried to put some distance between herself and her two undead attackers, all the while desperately looking for her own allies, wondering why they had seemingly abandoned her. Glancing around herself wildly, the reasons for them not rushing immediately to her aid soon became painfully apparent; there were undead everywhere – ghasts, ghouls, skeletal warriors - all pouring from the dead remains of the ancient city like maggots from a freshly turned corpse. Some of them seemed to be more intact than others – some even bore weapons – but it was their sheer numbers that caused the half elf's heart to leap into her throat and run over to where her drow compatriots where engaged in furious battle.

As she approached, one figure rose above all the others, muttering a few arcane syllables under his breath. Although Jen couldn't hear what Jehk'ril was about to cast, she could sense the build up of magical energy in the vicinity, and so prepared herself; a glowing ball of energy erupted in the palm of his hand, which he then threw to the floor with massive force, causing it to explode in a gigantic fireball. Watching the edge of the flames speed towards her, the half elf crouched a little and tensed, trying to judge the perfect moment to leap; the undead around her – for all their pretences at tactics - did not, and so as she dove to one side, dodging the leading edge of the flames and subsequently suffering no more than a slightly singed braid, her attackers bore the full brunt, causing them to scream out ear-splitting squeals as their rotted flesh began to all but melt from their age-old bones.

Rolling as she landed, Jen used the momentum of her dive to bring herself immediately back to her feet; spinning as she did so with Enserric leading, she managed to clip a couple of the ghasts that were now closing in on her. Deciding to take a leaf out of the drow mage's book, the half elf closed her eyes for a split second and called to the arcane power that dwelt within her. Feeling the magic course with an almost unbearable heat from the region of her heart and along her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around herself briefly before flinging them wide again, releasing the spell energy as she did so. Much to the surprise of her allies, a circular wall of fire and force emanated from the rogue, not only incinerating all the undead that it touched, but flinging their bodies backwards with a resounding boom, so that by the time the effects of the spell had died down, there was a clear space around her. It was then that Tsabandiir called down a gigantic column of flame and Jehk'ril's palms spat with electrical power as he called forth a spell of chain lightning, which he duly flung at a particularly unpleasant looking ghast and smiled grimly as the undead monster was driven to its knees, watching the power arc from his primary target to others around the battlefield.

Now free from any assailants, Jen quickly perused the battlefield to see that Rizonym was slicing through the undead horde that surrounded him as if they were nothing more than insubstantial shades, a look of grim determination upon his scarred face. Nathyrra was further to the right with Szinaufein at her back, the two of them complimenting their graceful fighting styles admirably as they near danced through the undead ranks, cutting down their foes with practised ease. Even Xen'shai was fencing back a group of ghouls with a graceful flourish; eschewing his usual dirge, the Deathsinger was obviously deferring to Deekin, who was nowhere to be seen, but since Jen could hear the delicate strains of his lyre and his rasping voice not too far away, she knew that the little kobold was indeed all right. Feeling bolstered by his song, the half elf once again called to the well of magical energy she had stored within her and brought forth a ball of flame, which she hurled at the horde, being as careful as she could not to hit any of her allies. The ball hit the floor, where it exploded with a rushing, crackling sound, consuming many of the weaker undead and causing those that didn't collapse in a pile of bones and foetid flesh to flee with a curious, bounding gait. Realising that the battle was indeed turning in their favour, Jen ran forward to assist her allies in picking off the stragglers, whilst Jehk'ril began to call forth simple spells that caused flames to erupt from his spread fingertips, corralling the remaining undead towards the more melee inclined members of the group so that they could cut them down with ease.

Finally, the last of the horde was destroyed, and all was still again. Meeting in the middle of their impromptu battlefield, the small group regarded each other grimly before anyone spoke.

"Is anyone injured?" Jen asked eventually.

"Rizonym took a nasty hit, but he has been healed," answered Xen'shai, who gestured towards the cleric was once more standing by the much taller scarred drow's side. "Apart from that, I think we have escaped relatively unscathed."

"Yes... it is good," Jehk'ril broke in, giving Jen an odd look. "I didn't know you were quite so proficient at using magic, Jallil d'Ssussun; I had been led to believe that your talents lay more in stealth."

Turning to face him, Jen sheathed her blade once again and offered the drow mage a complicated facial shrug. "They do. Kind of. I can cast a few spells... I don't have anywhere near your repertoire, but I know enough to get me by."

"Indeed. Although I must admit, that first spell... I am not familiar with it."

Jen looked confused for a moment. "You're not? I don't know... it's just something I can do."

Nodding slowly, Jehk'ril gave the half elf an appraising look, but said no more.

"What I want to know is where that lot came from," Nathyrra interjected, looking grave. "There have been scouts patrolling this area for tendays at a time; why wasn't an undead horde of that magnitude reported?"

It was Xen'shai's turn to shrug his shoulders.

"That, Wenress d'Barra, is something I do not know. I am guessing their addition to this region is possibly a recent event... which could be construed as something we should be worrying about."

The other drow nodded their heads thoughtfully.

"Why? Deekin not understand, " Deekin piped up, staring up at the dark elves from beside Jen. "Jehk'ril say this place haunted – stories say so. So Deekin thinks there should be no surprise that this place full of undead."

"He's got a point..." Jen added.

Nathyrra shook her head. "That's just it – tales of undead in this area were just that: tales. Of course, the odd Shade might turn up here from time to time, but that was a full, corporeal horde. Someone planted those undead here-"

"Valsharess," interrupted Szinaufein. "She have neccasalmor'en... death-mage now. Maybe they put undead here."

Nathyrra glanced towards the ranger before nodding, agreeing with his reasoning. "That was my thought also. We know the Valsharess has recruited some necromancers... there have been reports of increased undead activity all over this region, although nothing to that scale. Maybe she was using this as a place to... hold them?"

"Or maybe she just knew we were coming," Rizonym intoned with a grim look.

Having said the one thing everyone was thinking but had been unwilling to voice, the ragtag group fell into silence again. For a moment, Jen felt an inexplicable stab of worry that although they had each other to protect each other, Valen had no one to watch his back if the Valsharess was indeed aware of their intentions... but as quickly as it arose, the half elf squashed it back down deep within herself, reluctant to spare any thought whatsoever for the one who had abandoned them so readily.

Now wanting nothing more than to press on, Jen folded her arms over her chest and catching Nathyrra's eye, gave the assassin a solemn look before speaking up.

"Whatever the reason, that doesn't give us any excuse not to continue. How far are we from Zorvak'Mur?"

"Less than half a day, if we do not dawdle" the female drow replied, gesturing towards the direction of the illithid city.

"Then that is where we shall go. We'll find a place to rest up before entering - this has been a long day, after all – but the sooner we can break these alliances, the better."

Without waiting for any response, the half elf moved off towards the Mind Flayer enclave with a determined air about her.

o0o

_Trail... weak..._

_Scent... disappearing..._

Allowing the demon to dominate now he was on his own, Valen loped along the track with an almost predatory gait, using his instincts rather than any concious effort to track the drow battalion. Although the drow themselves were quite elusive, the stench of the duergar was something his demon had no trouble tracking at all; pausing only occasionally to survey the path ahead, the tiefling made steady progress and although he usually fought his more animalistic side, at that particular moment, he relished in it, simply because it meant that he didn't have to think.

Even so, he still felt a slight, nagging feeling deep within himself; an itch that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't scratch, a sinking feeling that this time, he really had pushed things too far... Shaking his head and growling to himself, the Weapon Master reminded himself that this was for the best; Lith My'athar needed him, and although the Seer might initially be disappointed that he had left her so-called saviour to essentially fend for herself, there was always the bigger picture to think about and even though the battalion he was following was small in the grand scheme of things, it could still prove enough to make a sizeable dent in their already depleted defences, which was something he knew they simply could not afford – prophetical saviour or not.

Straightening himself up, the tiefling stopped and sniffed the still air; for some reason, his instincts were screaming at him that something wasn't quite right. Taking time to study his surroundings, the Weapon Master slowly slid Devil's Bane from its holster and waited.

To his left, there was the soft sound of something slithering stealthily over the glittering black rocks that bordered the track he was following... but that wasn't it. That wasn't what had caused him to stop. Taking in a deep breath through his open mouth, the warrior concentrated as if he was tasting the very air around him and strained his ears for anything that he considered out of the ordinary.

The world slowed.

Once upon a time, the tiefling had permanently inhabited this world; a world of saturated colour and scent; a world of instincts and blood; a world where time all but stopped. This was the demon that the drow so rightly feared; a creature that Valen had fought so long to control – to kill – but again and again found himself relying on in times of strife.

Tilting his head slightly to one side, the man sensed nothing out of the ordinary, but the demon smelt the unmistakeably sour tang of spider venom, and upon the edge of his hearing, could sense the beat of five, steady hearts.

From the shadows, there was a soft snick as a bolt left a well oiled crossbow, but that did not worry the tiefling. Glancing around, he watched the bolt's progress with curiosity rather than alarm, its passage so slow that it was as if it was travelling through treacle. Raising a hand, he slapped the bolt out of the air before it could bury itself into the muscle of his neck; hearing a slight gasp followed by the silky sound of a blade being drawn from a scabbard, the demon warrior turned his head and regarded the gloom.

Five drow emerged from the murk, all of them with blades drawn and a look of arrogant self confidence upon their collective faces. Upon seeing this, Valen couldn't help but smile grimly, showing canines that were just ever so slightly too pointed to be comfortably human, his tail twitching a little erratically. This caused one of the drow – the only female of the group - to pause and narrow her eyes at him whilst the four males moved to surround him; still smiling, the Weapon Master tested the weight of his flail in his hands, waiting for them to strike.

He didn't have to wait long; all four males attacked as one, their delicately forged but wickedly sharp swords leading. Raising Devil's Bane above his head, the tiefling let out a guttural roar before smashing the weapon down in an erratic, violent arc that caused all four dark elves to jump back again, their original arrogance now replaced with something far more wary.

Sensing their unease, the demon decided to take the initiative. Leaping forward with a cruel, throaty laugh, Valen smashed his weapon down with such force that it took a sizeable chunk out of the tunnel floor before he kicked out with both feet, catching one of the drow painfully upon the chin with a resounding crack. Skittering back, the now injured drow yelped in pain as his hand flew to his broken jaw, causing his three companions to leap in upon the tiefling, thinking that he would have been unbalanced by the violence of his last attack.

It was not to be.

Now completely at the mercy of his demon, Valen deflected a flurry of blows with his armoured forearm; even though his armour was heavily enchanted, many of the slashes managed to meet the flesh beneath, leaving him bleeding. However, rather than slowing him down, the stench of blood seemed only to drive the demon onward, and lunging forwards, the tiefling caught one of the dancing blades in front of him and dragged it close, jerking its wielder towards him, before he smashed Devils' Bane down upon the unfortunate drow male's skull with such force that he near enough took his head clean off in one, fell swoop. Using the momentum of the attack, the tiefling then span on the ball of one foot to kick out, catching another advancing drow square in the gut; doubling over, the drow fell into a roll and came up breathing hard, but otherwise still ready to fight. Obviously thinking that the tiefling could never recover from such an attack in time to deflect his, the third male then decided to try to jump at the now near-berserking warrior, and bring his own blades down upon the tiefling's head to win both the fight and the favour of the Red Sister in charge of them, but instead found himself being flung backwards as the demon in front of him continued his kick to encompass him as well.

Advancing again, Valen began to strike out seemingly randomly with his flail, the wild tangle of chains snaking out in all directions as if of their own accord as he whipped the weapon back and forth; it was then that the Red Sister decided that she was going to get involved. Drawing forth something from her belt, the female drow began to mutter some arcane syllables under her breath before hurling what looked like a handful of mud at the tiefling. Smiling cruelly as the mud splattered all over the Weapon Master, she waited for his living flesh to be transformed to stone; Valen felt a creeping stiffness enter his bones, but gritting his teeth, he bullied the feeling from his person by sheer grit and will alone. Rounding upon the Red Sister, the tiefling felt a small sense of self satisfaction as the smug smile slid from her sharp, angular features, but it was a sense of self satisfaction that was short lived indeed.

Feeling an excruciating, piercing agony in his shoulder, Valen realised that once of the surviving males had recovered himself enough to gather his strength and drive his blade deep into the tiefling's shoulder. Feeling the red hot, agonising snap of his own collar bone, Valen howled in rage and, ignoring his own pain, grasped the drow by the scruff of his neck before throwing his head back and smashing his forehead against the struggling drow's nose.

Staggering once again to his feet with Devil's Bane held above his head, Valen flung the bloodied drow to the floor and then almost instantaneously, smashed the flail down as hard as he could repeatedly, beating the dark elf into nothing more than a bloody, oozing pulp. As he did so, one of the other males leaped at his back and pounded him with a flurry of blows that the rational part of the tiefling knew he would feel acutely later, but for now, it just caused him to flick his flail back so that its chains entangled around the attacking drow's blades, essentially putting his assailant off balance. The second remaining drow then attempted to measure a thrust that would find a gap in Valen's armour and allow him to pierce something vital; instead, the tiefling managed to dodge so that the blade only nicked him before he struck out with his fist, catching the dark elf upon his already injured jaw. Screeching in pain, the drow skittered back just as the Red Sister let off another spell, this time something far more explosive: a fireball. Diving to one side, the tiefling grunted in pain as the splintered ends of his collar bone ground together and felt a blisteringly hot wave of flame wash over him; feeling the exposed skin of his tail crisp slightly, Valen growled in pain as he flipped himself to his feet before viciously lashing out at the drow whose jaw he had previously broken, killing him easily.

This left just two drow; one male and the Red Sister. The male by now was swaying slightly, his nose plastered halfway across his face; deciding to finish him off first before giving the Red Sister the full benefit of his attention, Valen growled again, leaping forward and kicking out with his feet. The drow male, obviously not as badly injured as the tiefling would have hoped, managed to easily dodge the incoming attack and spinning into a frenzied burst of whirling blades. Slashing forwards, the drow contrived to target the much taller warrior's face, but instead met a gauntleted fist that struck through his defence and grabbed him viciously by the throat, yanking him forwards with such a speed that this head snapped back painfully, rattling his teeth in his head. The tiefling then smashed the handle of his flail directly between the dark elf's crimson eyes, which immediately rolled up into his head as he slumped down, seemingly dead.

Snarling and breathing heavily, the Weapon Master slowly turned to face his single remaining foe: the Red Sister. Apart from throwing a couple of spells his way, she had largely remained out of the fight, obviously hoping that her inferior male comrades would bring down their lone adversary easily; since this was not the case, she unwound the whip that she carried at her hip and flicked it menacingly his way.

"I know of you," she sneered at him in drow. "You are the one they call the Errdegah – chath, are you not? You will make a fine prize for the Valsharess."

Baring his teeth at the Red Sister, all Valen could do was laugh derisively, the demon inside him howling and yammering for her blood.

"You could make this easy upon yourself; your wounds are grave, after all. Surrender."

Whether it was the notion of surrender, or simply the tone of her haughty voice, Valen would never know; whatever it was, it caused something within him to snap. As he charged forwards, the Red Sister laughed, a delicate, almost tinkling sound, and she flicked her cruel whip in his direction, cutting a cold, thin gash across his right cheek with a snap. She then gracefully span, using the momentum of her body to bring the length of the whip back to her before snapping it out again, this time so that it caught around one of his ankles, tripping him. Drawing a vicious looking dagger from her belt as the tiefling fell heavily to the floor, she evidently thought the battle at an end; she moved forwards as if to slit the Weapon Master's throat, but she had underestimated the tall warrior's reflexes and was surprised when he kicked out at her from his prone position, causing her to tumble to the ground.

Like lightning, the female drow tried to find her feet once again, but it was too late; Valen threw himself forward and buried his much lighter assailant underneath him, crushing her and ensuring she could not escape. He then reached underneath him and buried one hand in her snowy hair; dragging her up, he braced himself for a moment before smashing her face down against the rocky floor with all the strength he could muster not one, twice, but three times.

After the third time, he felt the struggling form of the Red Sister go limp. Reining the demon in for a moment, he tore off a gauntlet and checked her pulse; feeling it flutter erratically under his searching fingers, he realised that she was not dead, only unconscious.

Good.

Reaching around, he withdrew a length of rope from his backpack and proceeded to tie the Red Sister up tightly; then, with Devil's Bane in hand, he went to check on his other four attackers. Two of them were little more than lumps of flesh, one had an obviously snapped neck whilst the fourth, although unconscious, was still breathing; bringing his weapon to bear, he brought it down heavily upon the dark elf's head, instantly ending his life in a similar fashion to that of his brothers.

Now that the adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, Valen began to feel as if his body was on fire. Staggering back to where he had bound the Red Sister, the tiefling picked up the length of rope he had left free for the purpose of hauling her away from the primary battle site; he needed answers, but he didn't want to risk getting them in a location that was undeniably going to begin attracting all manner of Underdark scavengers soon.

Dragging the recumbent drow behind him, Valen winced as more of his wounds became apparent; glancing around, he could see that he was leaving a little breadcrumb trail of blood droplets behind him from his own, not insubstantial wounds. Fumbling in his belt pouch, the Weapon Master found a healing potion and swallowed it down in one, but it hardly did anything; shrugging his shoulders in resignation, he then fished out another two and drank them down as well. That seemed to work better, and upon inspecting his lacerated forearm, he could see that the wounds were knitting together nicely; smiling grimly to himself as he looked around at the Red Sister, he loosened the leash he had roped around his demon once more and prepared himself to interrogate her.

o0o

Valen hauled the unconscious form of the Red Sister for a little while, seeking to put some distance between himself and the bloody remains of the former battlefield. Once satisfied that he had put enough distance behind him, he stopped, checked the female drow's bonds and then fished out one of his precious healing potions.

Forcing it between her lips, he massaged the Red Sister's throat, making her swallow; he then waited a moment for the potion to take hold, holding a dagger to her throat just in case. Watching her warily as her eyes fluttered open, the Red Sister tried to move; finding herself bound, she looked up and upon seeing the tiefling, she began to spit all manner of insults his way.

Allowing the demon even more rein, Valen grinned nastily as he dragged the drow into a sitting position and, grasping her chin with one hand, forced her to look at him. Feeling her prepare to spit, he shook her viciously.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he suggested in a low growl.

"What do you want?" she demanded back in a vicious whisper. "You should have killed me whilst you had the chance!"

"Oh, never fear; I will kill you. I just need you to answer some questions for me first-"

"Never! You may as well kill me now, I will never answer you, iblith! You shall pay for this!"

A small part of the tiefling felt a level of respect that even thought she was so undeniably beaten, the drow managed to maintain her haughty demeanour.

"We'll see about that," he continued through gritted teeth as he mentally prepared himself for what he had to do.

It wasn't so much the prospect of torture that sickened the tiefling; more the fact that there was a part of him that relished the prospect of it. However, he was a practical man when it came to his vows to protect Lith My'athar, and so he knew that this was an necessary evil that he had to perform.

Standing up, he moved behind the Red Sister and pulled hard upon her bound arms, causing them to grind agonisingly in their sockets. Taking in a sharp breath, the drow panted and gritted her teeth before barking out a laugh.

"I you think that will get me to talk, you have another thought coming, demon!" she sneered breathlessly. "That was barely a tickle compared to what the Valsharess would do to me if I talked!"

Narrowing his eyes, Valen lowered his head so that it was next to her sharp, obsidian ear.

"I know; I was testing your weight," he whispered back, forcing himself to sound calm.

Swallowing convulsively, the drow female tried to give him a hateful stare from the corner of her eye.

"You do not intimidate me, spawn."

"No?"

Steeling himself, Valen then pulled harder upon her arms until he heard one of her shoulders pop nauseatingly as her arm dislocated.

Taking in a sharp breath, the Red Sister tried her hardest not to cry out in pain.

"Were you with the battalion that passed this way no more than a few hours ago?" Valen fought to keep his voice steady, but the demon was well and truly fighting to be freed by this point.

The Red Sister remained silent.

Shaking his head, the tiefling pulled upon her other arm, slowly and agonisingly pulling it from its socket.

Gritting her teeth, the drow let out a thin, pitiful whine.

"Yes!" she answered at last. "Yes, I was!"

"Are you heading for the city by the poison river's edge?"

The Red Sister paused, forcing Valen to jam a hard thumb into her dislocated shoulder, causing her to screech out loud in agony.

"To Lith My'athar? No! No, we were not heading there!"

You lie!" the tiefling whispered ferociously, feeling his temper flare once again at her obvious falsehoods and wrenched her arm a little more sharply than he had intended, causing the bone to actually snap. This in turn caused the Red Sister to shriek out loud, largely incomprehensible curses.

"NO! No lies! Truth!" she now sobbed. "Check... check up ahead! I do not lie... I do not lie!"

"Where are you heading?"

"The Eye Tyrants... the Hive..."

Valen's mouth ran suddenly dry.

"The Eye Tyrants?"

"Yes!" She shrieked, now panting as sweat trickled down her face.

"WHY?!"

Now panicking, the tiefling twisted her broken arm viciously, desperate for answers.

For a long while, all the drow could do was babble incoherently in pain, but eventually he managed to make out what she was trying to say: that they had heard of the Downfall of the Valsharess; that even though she was a surfacer, she was indeed the Remnant; and, most worryingly, they had been ordered to hunt her down... and that this was more important than any assault on the rebel city.

Now feeling decidedly sick, the Weapon Master decided that he had heard enough. Drawing his dagger along the Red Sister's throat, he put an end to her miserable existence without a second thought before wrenching her ring that she wore free.

Swaying slightly, the tiefling stood up and staggered back down the tunnel; desperately, he tried to relocate the tracks from the battalion and prove to himself that the drow bitch was lying – that he hadn't just abandoned Jenalil for absolutely no reason at all other than his own pride. It took him a while in his distracted state, but eventually he spotted the familiar tread of heavy dwarven boots; following them swiftly for a short distance, he pulled up short in dread and disbelief when he realised that the Red Sister hadn't been lying.

The tracks were turning north east, away from Lith My'athar.

Lith My'athar was safe for now.

His head spinning with the realisation as to what he had done, Valen felt his gorge rise, and throwing himself to the side of the path, the tiefling threw up. Once his heaving had subsided, he dragged a hand across his chin and stood up shakily.

They knew she was out here.

The Valsharess knew that Jenalil wasn't in the city.

Glancing along the tunnel that led to Lith My'athar, the small, treacherously proud part of the Weapon Master considered just continuing on to the city and forgetting all about the half elf; this, however, was almost immediately driven away by an almost suffocating sense of panic for the surfacer's safety.

Pride be damned, one way or another, he had to catch them up.

He had to warn Jenalil that the Valsharess was coming for her.


	19. A Many Splintered Thing

_Too much Sisters of Mercy and too much A Perfect Circle makes Ely write nonsense... p_

Chapter 19 – A Many Splintered Thing

Silence once again returned to the Underdark. Scouting ahead, Szinaufein kept a close eye and a keen ear out for any more trouble that might assail the small group as he crept silently forwards, trying to find a place where they could rest undisturbed. So far, he hadn't had much luck; most of the outcroppings of rock were simply too shallow or too close to the main track to be useful, and the further afield he went, the more the young ranger became acutely aware that they were being forced to undertake a sizeable detour away from their main goal - the illithid city of Zorvak'Mur. Eventually, the drow stopped by a tall stand of towering fungus located in a natural hollow; it wasn't perfect, he knew, but they would be largely sheltered from a casual glance at least. Taking a moment search the fungal grove just in case, he then quickly made his way back to where the others were, hoping that they agreed with him.

It didn't take him long to re join the others; although he knew that as his superior, he should report directly to Xen'shai, the young ranger instead decided to report to Jenalil instead. This was mainly because she was the one the Seer placed in charge, but also because at that point, Nathyrra was by her side. Truth was, the female assassin intrigued him; although obviously ruthless and dangerous, she also had a measure of kindness and altruism to her that he'd never experienced in a female before, and for that reason, there was a part of him that found himself thinking about her more and more as time went by. Of course, this in turn sparked all manner of conflict within him - he did, after all, have himself and his brothers-in-arms to consider, and there was no way he wanted to risk their success upon the chance of a quick tumble with the beautiful assassin... but at the same time, if the opportunity knocked, he knew he would be a fool to turn it down.

"Szinaufein!" Nathyrra exclaimed under her breath in drow at his approach. "Glad you are back. Do you have anything to report?" She then frowned. "What's so funny?"

Realising that he still had a rather silly grin plastered across his face from his last thought, the ranger shook his head and carefully smoothed his features into one of earnest sincerity.

"Nothing, jabbress," he answered, contriving to sound as innocent as possible. "I am just pleased to have found a good place for us to rest, that is all."

The assassin narrowed her eyes and offered him a rather cynical - but amused nonetheless – look before they both turned to the surfacer rogue for her opinion.

Although Szinaufein was no expert on surfacers - nor females, come to think of it, he mused wryly – even he couldn't mistake the harried look of weariness upon Jen's face. That she did not answer either of their enquiring looks, it soon became apparent that the half elf wasn't actually listening to either of them at all; nudging her gently, Nathyrra sought to bring the distracted rogue's attention back to them without coming across as too demanding.

With a start, Jen's eyes focused upon the two of them with a small, apologetic look.

"Oh, sorry, Szinaufein... did you find somewhere for us to rest?" The half elf spoke slowly and clearly so that the drow could understand her easily.

Nodding slowly, the young ranger glanced at Nathyrra as a small look of concern flickered across his face.

"Yes. No far. Not perfect, but good."

Nodding, Jen offered Szinaufein a grateful smile. "Good; we'll head there now. The sooner we rest, the sooner we can deal with the illithid." The half elf then turned and left them, her thoughts obviously elsewhere.

At this, Szinaufein just nodded and shared another, slightly worried look with Nathyrra before heading off again, this time to inform Xen'shai of his discovery before they left for the grove.

o0o

As per his suspicions, the Deathsinger had been less than pleased that the ranger hadn't informed him first regarding his decision to lead them to the fungal grove to rest, but did say that he understood why he had done so. Frowning a little as the drow bard turned away from him, it dawned on Szinaufein that Xen'shai had obviously thought he had told Jen first to maintain her favour and not simply because it was a good excuse to talk to Nathyrra as well; with this in mind, the ranger decided that he should possibly keep his true motivation in that instance to himself, mainly because he wanted his fellow male to have a high opinion of him, but also because he didn't particularly want the others to know that their own mission hadn't been first and foremost in his mind in this case.

Moving swiftly from the unsettling dead city, it took the small group no more than half an hour to re locate the hollow where the tall stand of fungus grew. Following the others, Jen moved between the tall stems and was quite surprised to find that she felt a lot more comfortable whilst amongst the rough, woody trunks of the towering mushrooms with their thick, heavy, organic scent than out in the bare rockiness of the cavern, simply because it was more reminiscent of the woodland that surrounded her village as a child; so much so that if she closed her eyes and concentrated, she found she could catch a glimpse of herself on the surface once again.

Between them, they quickly set up a watch rota, although this time, it was agreed by common consensus that although the old saying that two pairs of eyes were indeed better than one, they would watch individually, thus cutting down the amount of time each person had to be up and therefore meaning that everyone potentially had a longer time in which to rest and recover from such a wearisome day. Allowing Jehk'ril the first watch so that he had enough time to study his spellbook and recover his magic energy, the others randomly selected their time to watch, and after eating a meagre, largely unsatisfying meal, they settled down to an uneasy rest, acutely aware that Zorvak'Mur – and the first of their three challenges – was literally just around the corner.

o0o

One of the few positive things that the Blood Wars had bestowed upon Valen was the ability to run for miles without rest, a skill that he was now rather thankful for as he sped his way back to the plateau where he had left Jenalil and the others in such unpleasant circumstances. With Devil's Bane secured safely in its harness, the tiefling ignored his multiple wounds and concentrated on the track ahead of him, his long strides eating up the distance easily, so that it didn't take him that long to reach his destination.

It was still too late, however.

Cursing himself roundly, the Weapon Master spent a few impatient moments searching the ground, trying to see if he could spot any tracks, but he knew it was essentially futile; trying to track drow was near enough impossible when they weren't being careful – when they were being careful, he didn't have a hope in all the nine hells.

Pacing impatiently as he weighed up his options, Valen felt a surge within him as the demon wrestled to be freed once again. Gritting his teeth, he forced the beast back down and forcibly threw it back into mental prison he had created for it, regretting that he had ever let it loose at all that day – it always seemed to become fractious after being allowed out, and today, he had allowed it to reign...

Realising that he was wasting more of his precious time, the tiefling grimaced when he came to the inevitable conclusion that he would simply have to gamble that Jen and Nathyrra would stick to their plans and travel to Zorvak'Mur first, and so with that in mind, the demonspawn moved off again.

o0o

Running swiftly through the ancient, ruined city that lay to the south of Zorvak'Mur, Valen was alarmed to see the remains of a large battle laid out before him. Slowing down, he took a moment to study the remains scattered around of them and found that they were all undead in varying states of decay. Deciding that it would be prudent to have his weapon to hand just in case any other undead were lying in wait for him ahead, the tiefling slid Devil's Bane free from its holster and moved carefully through the dead city, concentrating hard to make sure that he didn't miss any clues as to the whereabouts his erstwhile comrades, but all was quiet.

It was then that something within him gave him a small tug.

Sighing in resigned frustration that it was the demon within again, he was a little surprised nonetheless that rather than clamouring to be free, it seemed to be interested in something.

Frowning in consternation, Valen tried to ignore the strange, faintly nagging feeling within his breast, but no matter how much he tried, he just couldn't; even though it was only weak, it was insistent.

Acknowledging the feeling, he soon realised that he was sensing something inexplicably familiar; something that he had felt before, but largely ignored for some reason. It had to be due to the recent unshackling of his internal demon and his more instinctual side - he always was more sensitive to things such as these just after he had allowed his beast free - and so narrowing his eyes, he decided to allow himself to analyse it.

The feeling was incredibly faint and tended to scurry away from him each time he tried to scrutinise it, but whatever it was, it made him feel ever so slightly uncomfortable and on edge; it was akin to the feeling he got when faced with someone of baatezu blood, but much, much less intense and not nearly so violent...

_Celestial?_

Confused, the tiefling glanced around himself, a look of shocked incredulity upon his face.

_Celestial?! Where had that thought come from? There are no celestials around..._

Sharply shaking his head as if that would clear away the nagging feeling,he tried once again to concentrate, but the odd sensation simply would not fade. Growling in frustration, the Weapon Master gave it his full attention again and it slowly became apparent to him that although part of him found it uncomfortable, another part of him found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame; somewhere, somehow, it promised him soft skin, long, silky chestnut hair and wide, hazel green eyes, bordered with thick, dark lashes...

_Jenalil?_

Bringing himself up short, the tiefling whirled around on the spot, shocked and absolutely convinced that this was it; he was finally going insane. Yes, she was playing a little on his conscience and yes, he was concerned for the half elf's welfare - that much he would admit to himself, mainly because he was the one who had abandoned her and subsequently found out she was essentially being hunted by the Valsharess - but exactly why his subconscious conjured up her name in connection with this strange sensation, he couldn't fathom.

_Still, if it was her... if for some reason, part of him could sense her, for whatever reason..._

Still feeling supremely confused and now a little uneasy, Valen weighed up his options once more; to continue on to Zorvak'Mur or to follow his hunch. At first, he decided to ignore the hunch, but the further he moved down the path towards Zorvak'Mur, the more he got the feeling he had made the wrong decision; that Jenalil and her comrades were not to the the east, but rather to the north west. Sighing in frustration, the tiefling stopped again and, after dragging a hand through his crimson hair and asking himself a few pertinent questions as to why he was even considering doing what he was going to do, he changed direction and followed his instincts instead.

o0o

Feeling slightly ridiculous, the tiefling ran along the narrow track swiftly, hoping that if he was proved to be wrong – a belief that was becoming stronger with every stride – it wouldn't take him too long to get back to the main path to Zorvak'Mur. Deciding to see if he could further cut his search short, he clambered up the side of one of the smaller volcanic extrusions to allow himself the chance to survey the surroundings below him. Searching carefully, Valen initially saw nothing but a veritable forest of towering stalagmites and dagger-like stalactites in between which nestled groves of tree-sized mushrooms; resigning himself to the fact that he had misled himself somehow, the tiefling made to move away, but as he did so, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the corner of his eye. Turning his head sharply, he narrowed his eyes as he tried to discern what it was – and whether it was something he would need to deal with – only to open them wide in surprise when he realised exactly what it was he had spotted.

A kobold, with a lyre strapped to his back and a small crossbow clutched in his hands.

_Deekin?_

Dropping to the floor just in case he was wrong, Valen slithered forwards on his belly, trying to get as close to the edge of the outcrop as he dared so that he could attempt to see if this was indeed Deekin or if it was just a cruel coincidence. Upon studying the creature, however, he could see that there was no doubt; from the kobold's bizarrely red and purple tinged scales to the nervous way he fiddled with his crossbow, there was no doubt in his mind that this was indeed the half elf's irritating bardic companion.

Feeling a curious swelling sensation in his chest, the Weapon Master carefully crawled down the side of the extrusion and inched even closer. Seeing movement behind the kobold bard, Valen paused, willing himself to be as still as he possibly could, and simply watched as a figure joined Deekin.

It was Jenalil, looking tired and a little drawn, her sword in hand. She smiled wearily at Deekin, who said something to her that the tiefling couldn't quite make out; whatever it was, it prompted a look of deep affection to spread across her face as she shook her head and gestured back to the stand of fungus behind her. Cocking his head to one side, the kobold then shrugged his shoulders and made his way back between the giant fungal stems.

Now alone, Jen stepped forward a little warily and took a good look around herself before she absent-mindedly began to turn the sword she was carrying around her hand with a little flourish before unsheathing it, obviously satisfied that, to her knowledge anyway, there was nothing of consequence observing her.

As she stepped backwards once again into the relative gloom that bordered the mushroom grove, Valen could not help but notice the way her swordbelt emphasised the sway of her hips as she moved, nor the way the well-fitting leather of her armour clung to curves that she would not have possessed had she been purely of elven descent. Deep within him, the demon stirred again, this time roused by something other than violence, which in turn caused him to duck once again behind the ridge of rocks he was peering over with a puzzled shake of his head.

What was wrong with him? Although he could now finally admit to himself that he felt some measure of concern for the female half elf's safety, where had these other thoughts come from?There were far more alluring creatures out there; there had been times, back when he had first joined the Seer's troops and hadn't been used to the times when the females worshipped their goddess, when he had accidentally stumbled upon a dozen or so naked female drow dancing, their sinuous, beautiful yet curiously angular bodies contorted into shapes and positions that had been burned into his mind for quite some time afterwards... so why was he noticing these small things about a largely nondescript half elven rogue?

Feeling his cheeks grow a little warmer at his recollection of the naked priestesses and the curiously seductive image of the half elf's swaying hips, the tiefling ran a hand over his mouth and chin, as if that would calm the strange jolt he suddenly felt from the region of his gut and told himself sternly to stop it – now was the time to try to formulate a way to approach his former travelling companions and re-join them without losing too much face, not the time to dwell on the female form and the fact that this only companion in those particular matters for some while had been his imagination and own right hand.

He sat there for a while, chewing on his bottom lip, trying to think of something plausible, but nothing immediately came to mind. Taking a deep breath, it soon became apparent to the tiefling that the only thing he could do was admit the truth; that he had found out that the battalion was not heading for Lith My'athar and that the Valsharess was well aware they were out in the wilds of the Underdark somewhere, and that she was now treating them as her primary target. Resigning himself to his fate with a heavy mental sigh, Valen then slowly peered over the ridge, only to see to his dismay that the rogue was no longer alone and that another, much darker figure now sat closely by her side.

This dismay soon turned to outrage when he realised it was Xen'shai who sat so intimately with her.

o0o

Jen hadn't been too keen on the idea of Deekin watching alone; although she trusted him with her life, there was small, treacherous part of her that would forever think of him as someone who needed her protection rather than as her equal in such things, and so when the others suggested he took second watch after Jehk'ril, she begrudgingly accepted their proposal with a certain level of uncertainly and doubt only because it meant that by including him in their rota, they had a chance to cut down the amount they had all had to spend awake.

She hadn't slept well before her own watch; her concession for allowing Deekin to watch on his own was that her own vigil began directly after his had finished, and so by the time it came for her to swap, she was pretty much exhausted. Irritated with herself that she had allowed such a silly worry to keep her awake when she so obviously needed to rest, she buckled her swordbelt around her hips once again and, after unsheathing Enserric, went to relieve the kobold.

As she expected, the kobold had taken his duty seriously and nothing had attacked them during his time as sentry. At her approach, he had smiled nervously and enquired as to whether she was up to taking over; to this, she had smiled at him and sent him on his way back to their makeshift camp with words of praise that had caused him to grin widely at her.

And so her vigil began.

Stepping out, Jen glanced uneasily about herself, unconsciously turning Enserric in slow circles around her hand as if she was expecting something to jump out on her at any moment. Slowly, the feeling that she was being watched crept upon her, and so she stepped backwards, hoping that the shadowy protection of the mushroom grove would conceal her from any potential prying eyes, but if anything, the feeling intensified to a point where she could actually feel her skin prickle with goosebumps.

Frowning and shaking her head, the half elf scolded herself for such thoughts since she knew they were just a manifestation of her own paranoia and nothing more. Folding her arms over her chest, she then crouched down and tried to mentally prepare herself for the watch ahead; paranoid thoughts or not, it was her duty to keep the rest of her compatriots safe whilst they took some well earned rest.

Before she could ask Enserric if there was indeed something out in the murk observing her, a hand descended upon her shoulder, making the half elf jump up with a start as she quickly unsheathed her sword once again. Spinning around, she had to stop herself from instinctively disembowelling the slight form of the Deathsinger; slamming her blade back into its scabbard with a look like thunder, she near rounded upon Xen'shai, furious that he would creep up on her in such a way.

"What the in the nine hells do you think you're doing?" she hissed as she tried to will her heart to climb back down from her throat and rest once again in her chest. "I could've killed you!"

Smirking a little, the drow shook his head.

"I doubt it, Jallil d'Ssussun... as quick as you are, I had the advantage all along." He moved closer to her. "You seen tense... are you all right?"

"I seem tense?" Jen replied incredulously. "I wonder why? I don't know about you, but I think it might be due to certain people sneaking up on me in the middle of the night. What do you think, Xen'shai?"

At her angry tone, the Deathsinger raised his hands in defence and smiled at her warmly.

"Jenalil, I was just joking; I was trying to lighten the mood." He then took another step closer to her, allowing a hint of concern to seep into his voice. "I was just a little worried for you, that is all; I am sorry that I startled you."

Moving back a little bit, Jen gave him a slightly cynical look. "You're worried for me? Why?"

Before he answered her, Xen'shai offered the rogue a slightly appraising, thoughtful look before he sat down, gesturing that she should do the same. Hesitating at first, Jen considered simply refusing, but then realising that would be abominably rude for no real reason, she then slowly sank to the floor, allowing the Deathsinger to sit himself next to her.

"I am worried simply because today has been such a testing day for all of us... but for you especially. Jenalil, if you do not mind me saying, you look..." he paused and glanced away from her as if searching for the correct word before looking back, a slightly apologetic air about him. "You look tired. I am worried that the Underdark is taking its toll on you... you should have been given time to acclimatise yourself more." He leant in a little closer to her. "If it were up to me, you would have had that time."

Leaning back a little, it took Jen a long time to answer.

"Well... thank you for your concern, but I'm okay – I'm a bit tired, yes, but apart from that-"

"Jenalil; please do not treat me like an idiot," Xen'shai interrupted a little harshly. "Forgive me for this... but what the Errdagah – chath did to you today – it is just unforgivable. For him to abandon you in your time of need like that... I have to admit, I still cannot believe he did that to you."

At that, Jen drew her legs up defensively under her chin and looked away from the Deathsinger wordlessly, a small frown touching her forehead. The drow did not try to fill the silence she created however; instead, he just watched her in a measured, impassive way that made her squirm a little uncomfortably inside.

"Valen can do what he wants," she answered eventually in a soft voice. "If he wishes to return to Lith My'athar, then that is his choice; I wish him the best."

"You are far more forgiving that I would be, Jallil d'Ssussun," Xen'shai murmured in return as his jade eyes sought her hazel ones. "Much more. I, personally, am furious with the way he has treated you... that you wish him well is something I find hard to understand, I must admit."

Allowing him to hold her gaze, the half elf shrugged. She then looked away from him again and regarded the shadows ahead of her in silence for a long while, obviously thinking, before turning back to him with a wary look upon her face.

"Xen'shai; why are you here?"

The drow's brow creased a little in consternation.

"I am here to see if you are all right – I just said s-"

"No," she interrupted. "Why are you here in the first place? Why did you offer to help?"

Narrowing his eyes for a split second at her questions, it was then the Deathsinger's turn to fall silent.

"I do not expect you to understand," he began quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor. "It is clear from your natural compassion and warmth that you have never experienced true cruelty and therefore you have no point of reference; for that, I am grateful. The thought of such things befalling such a pure soul... it does not bear thinking about..." he sighed, shaking his head, allowing his long, silvery hair to hide his face.

"What happened?" Jen asked, curious despite her wariness of the silver-tongued drow. "Jehk'ril mentioned some things, but he never went into detail."

"Just as well." Xen'shai continued, still refusing to look back up at her. "Our time with House Aleanath was not... pleasant."

"Why?"

The Deathsinger shrugged his shoulders before glancing back up at the rogue. "I had the simple misfortune of being born male," he said simply. "My mother – Matron Chesriina Aleanath – was desperate for another daughter after my older sister defected to the worship of Eilistraee." A hint of deep bitterness entered Xen'shai's melodious voice. "Chesriina murdered her for that particular transgression. After a string of failed pregnancies, which she attributed to the Lolth's obvious displeasure at raising a heretic, she finally fell with me." He paused again and looked to his hands. "I was to be sacrificed to appease Lolth, or so I am told; ironically, it was our high priestess who saved me." He looked back to Jen with one eyebrow raised. "It is traditionally the third son who is sacrificed, you see, and the priestess was worried that by ignoring that particular custom, our House would fall further from favour, so Chesriina's hand was stayed. My younger brother wasn't so lucky. He was three days old when he met his end."

At this little revelation, Jen looked at Xen'shai in absolute horror. "She sacrificed a three day old baby? Her own son?"

The drow bard just nodded. "After that, Jehk'ril was born. Ironically, we did not know each other as children; by the time he was born, I was already at our academy for mages – we met as adults."

"You didn't know... how much older than Jehk'ril are you?" Jen asked, curious in spite of herself.

Xen'shai chuckled. "I have a good forty years on my younger brother, Jenalil – he is merely a youngster compared to me. I am one hundred and forty three; he is barely a century, a mere stripling in the grand scheme of things." Seeing her interest, the drow leant a little closer. "I was already gaining a name for trouble – something that I regret now, I must admit – when he was a mere child. If only I had been more... discreet with my rebellion, then maybe I would have gotten away with a lot more and saved him from some of the horrors he had to endure." He sighed. "As it was, I was young, reckless and out to prove a point."

"A point?"

"That males were equal to females, of course. I hated my position; I hated that I was automatically deemed a second class citizen simply due to the accident of my gender."

"But... if that's the way you were brought up, how did you know differently?" Jen asked, now slightly confused.

"It was my old tutor who first told me things did not have to be this way," Xen'shai answered, a wistful smile upon his face. "He taught me that males were just as valuable as females. He introduced me to equality – he even took me to the surface so I might savour its more pleasurable aspects in the arms of a willing female – and I knew then that I would never bow down to Lolth's clergy again. Never."

The vehemence in which he swore his opposition caused Jen to look enquiringly at him.

"So... who did you turn to? Eilistraee or Vha-"

Raising a hand, Xen'shai quickly placed an slender ebon finger at her lips to silence her before moving in closer still so he could whisper in her ear.

"Do not say His name, Jallil," he murmured softly. "To say the Masked Lord's name is to invite him into your life, whether you want him there or not." The Deathsinger then gently slid his finger from Jen's lips her chin, which he cupped with one hand, causing her to regard him with widened eyes. "I do not follow the Dark Maiden – although more tolerant than the Spider Queen, she still only has interest in the females of her clergy – but I also do not consider myself solely His... here in the Underdark, it is difficult for a lone male to make a difference without divine guidance, but I seem to do well enough." Now using the hand that cupped her chin to stroke her cheek and brush a lock of hair from her face, Xen'shai smiled. "And that is why I follow you, Jallil d'Ssussun. That is why I fight your fight willingly."

Feeling his breath warm against her cheek, Jen swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "Why do you call me that. Jallil d'Ssussun?"

The Deathsinger's smile took on a beguiling cast. "It means 'Lady of Light' in drow... for you indeed bring light to these dark places, ussta jallil." Then, using the same, gentle hand that had stroked her cheek, Xen'shai traced her jawline with his fingertips and found the lobe of one ear, causing the half elf to close her eyes and forcibly suppress a slight shiver that danced almost deliciously along her spine; upon sensing this, the Deathsinger leant forwards the final fraction of an inch to lightly brush his lips against the side of her pale neck.

Suddenly, there was a crack from up ahead, causing both drow and half elf to instinctively snap their heads up.

"What was that?" Jen whispered, jumping up and sliding Enserric from its scabbard as she did, trying to ignore the curiously warm, heavy feeling she was currently experiencing deep within herself.

"I don't know..." Xen'shai replied, standing up much more slowly, scanning their surroundings. "It sounded like someone trod on something."

"That's what I thought," she agreed, now feeling nervous. "You go and wake the others – I'll go and investigate."

"Is that wise? Perhaps we should both investigate-"

"It is better to be safe than sorry," she interrupted. "Go – you wake up the others; I'll have a look."

Then, without waiting for any confirmation from the Deathsinger, Jen crept forward into the gloom.


	20. You Reap What You Sow

Chapter 20 – You Reap What You Sow

Forcing himself to suppress a sudden, bizarrely overwhelming compulsion to leap over the ridge of rocks he was currently using as a hiding place, Valen watched with an increasing sense of impotent fury as Jen and Xen'shai settled down to have what looked for all the world like a cosy little chat. Although he was too far away to make out their actual words, their body language spoke volumes to him; it was not, however, the obvious intention of the Deathsinger's every tiny, almost imperceptible move towards the half elf that inexplicably angered him the most, but more the way that Jen, despite her moves to lean away from him, appeared almost flattered by his attentions, seemingly oblivious to what the drow actually wanted from her... at least, a small, intensely secret part of him _hoped_ she was oblivious to what the drow actually wanted from her.

Breathing deeply to steady his irritation, the Weapon Master tried to remind himself that this is what the Deathsinger excelled at – he hardly ever had to fight simply because he could use the force of his personality alone to get exactly what he wanted in any given circumstance. In the past, this particular skill had been used to their advantage; many wavering drow had been convinced to join their fight due to the drow bard's silver tongue rather than anything the Seer could promise them, and Valen himself had been convinced to allow the Deathsinger to join them upon Imloth's reminder of this and the fact that the alliances they were hoping to end did not necessarily have to be broken with force and violence alone, and that sometimes a well placed word was worth more than a hundred sword cuts. Although this mentality was largely a foreign concept to the tiefling, he had seen Xen'shai in action and could only surmise that, somehow, there was a magic to his voice and words that caused people to do exactly what he wanted them to do; in the past, this hadn't been a problem... but now?

Snapping out of his frustrated moment of reflection, the tiefling refocused upon the intimate tableau that was playing out below him. Grinding his teeth, he watched once again and had to physically stop himself from launching at the drow when he leant across and placed a finger over the half elf's lips; from her surprised expression and the way she almost jerked her head away from him, however, indicated that the Deathsinger's attentions may not be entirely as welcome as Valen had once thought. At this, the tiefling felt a small, vindictive flicker of satisfaction ripple through him that no matter now much Xen'shai turned on the charm and no matter how exhausted Jen looked, she still had some presence of mind to be at least a little wary of the charismatic bard.

This sense of satisfaction soon turned to ice when Xen'shai's countenance shifted into a smile that had nothing to do with amusement and made to brush a lock of hair from Jen's face before trailing his finger tips along her jawline; it was an intimate gesture that left Valen wanting nothing more than to punch the libidinous drow squarely in his smug face – an urge that grew to an almost unbearable compulsion as Xen'shai leaned even closer to Jen, his intention plain.

The ice that had formed within the Weapon Master's chest was instantly evaporated by a violent surge of red hot fury that catapulted itself through him as he watched Xen'shai's polished obsidian lips brush the side of Jen's pale neck as if in slow motion; suddenly, there was a resounding crack that echoed all around the grove, causing the seductive spell the Deathsinger has woven around the half elven rogue to be broken. Snapping their heads up, both Jen and Xen'shai stared in his direction, the look of flustered shock upon the half elf's face the exact mirror opposite to the flash of foiled irritation that crossed the drow's.

Cursing himself roundly, Valen let the chunk of rock he had snapped off the outcrop he was leaning over fall to the ground with a soft thump; glancing down, he could clearly see the glittering, pale grey scar he had left upon the surface of the granite boulder and realised that this was a clear indication that someone had been here not long ago.

Glancing up again, a sense of almost guilty triumph swept over the tiefling as he saw that both the half elf and the drow had leapt up, and as his irrational jealousy seeped away leaving him feeling decidedly confused as to where it had come from and ever so slightly sheepish that he had allowed it to bother him quite so much. All he knew straight away was that the last thing he wanted was to be caught essentially spying, and so crept carefully backwards, hoping that they would go back to wake the others before continuing their search.

Risking another glance, Valen rolled his eyes in exasperation when he saw that this was not to be; although Xen'shai had gone, Jen was still advancing with slow, careful steps, her sword drawn. Taking a few more steps backwards, the tiefling wondered exactly how he was going to explain his presence there without making himself look like a total idiot as well as still maintaining the cool, hard-edged defences he had built up around himself before he shook his head ruefully at the realisation that this was going to be largely impossible, given the circumstances. Still, he could make it look like he had just arrived and so, taking a deep breath, the Weapon Master continued to back away.

o0o

Creeping forwards carefully, Jen attempted to attune her senses to her surroundings and nothing else. She had to admit that she was currently caught between intense relief and just a slight hint of secret annoyance at being disturbed; for all her wariness with regards to the Deathsinger's intentions, there was still an involuntary part of her that found him quite exotic and almost embarrassingly attractive, and no matter how much tried to deny and it make herself ignore him, she found the attention he paid her flattering, if a little unnerving at times.

Cocking her head to one side, she froze as she heard another soft yet unmistakable sound of someone – or something – moving stealthily somewhere up ahead. Unfortunately, as much as she was acclimatising to the Underdark and its strange environs, she still found it difficult to pinpoint the exact source of any sound as it tended to echo faintly off the cavern walls, whilst the great stands of fungi seemed to absorb it; deciding caution was therefore the best course of action, she hugged the tunnel wall and edged forward, her sword held steadily in front of her.

She made her way as stealthily as possible along the tunnel, stopping here and there to listen once again, hoping to be able to ascertain the source of the disturbance that danced upon the edge of her hearing, when suddenly she felt the unexpected kiss of cold steel slide against her throat. Freezing immediately, she almost forgot to breathe as she allowed herself to glance around, trying to see from the corner of her eye whom it was who had so successfully managed to sneak up on her, all the while desperately preparing a spell that would hurl her unknown assailant away from her if need be.

Slowly, the wielder of what turned out to be a particularly cruel looking dagger stepped into view.

It was a duergar.

Giving her an appraising look, the deep dwarf said something to her in a guttural language that she didn't quite recognise before quirking an eyebrow at her, a grin spreading across his bearded face. Eyeing him warily, Jen tried to indicate that she didn't understand his question; at this, he just shook his head and chuckled.

"Well, well, well... what have you caught there, Rattil?

The duergar rogue just grinned again as four other deep dwarves stepped out of the dark.

Responding again in the language Jen didn't recognise, the assembled duergar all shared a look and then chuckled to themselves whilst the rogue who had ambushed her took his knife away from her throat; the one who spoke Common then moved closer to her, an amused, slightly calculating look upon his dark face.

"You don't speak the language of the deeps, do you?"

At the distinct lack of a dwarven accent, Jen blinked; she had been so used to Dorna's broad brogue that hearing another dwarf speak without it caught her slightly off balance. Eyeing the vicious looking battleaxe the deep dwarf held easily in his hands, Jen shook her head curtly.

"And your attire isn't usual for a slave... I'm taking it you haven't felt the kiss of a whip?"

Again, Jen shook her head warily, deeply suspicious despite the duergar's outwardly friendly appearance.

"Aye... aye... it happens occasionally, doesn't it lads? A surfacer wanders down here..."

The other duergar nodded, once again exchanging looks whilst they moved to spread out around her; desperately, Jen fought to keep each on of them in her sights, but it proved impossible.

"Aye, that is true,Yorag," broke in another deep dwarf, his white beard split into two even plaits. "Thinking they can be finding all kinds of treasure and adventure down in the depths... but in the end, all they find are their own deaths. 'Tis a shame."

Again, all the duergar nodded, their grins widening to an alarming, almost shark-like degree.

"You down here alone, lass?"

Readjusting her grip upon the hilt of her sword as she began to coax the inherent magical energy that dwelt within her to the fore, Jen hesitated a little before shaking her head.

"You're not here on your own?" the second duergar lifted a grey tinged eyebrow. "So where're your friends?"

"Around," Jen replied curtly, her eyes still darting in all directions as she tried to keep as many duergar in her sights at once.

"Around? Really?" he looked back at his comrades with an amused smile. "Not here though, are they?"

As one, the deep dwarves took a step forwards.

"Do you have any idea how much pale flesh sells for down here? Especially when it's as smooth as yours?"

As one, the demeanour of the duergar changed from one of affable curiosity to to one of deadly intent.

Dropping to a crouch, Jen lifted a defiant eyebrow. "Oddly enough – no."

Slowly, the duergar began to circle like vultures around a fresh corpse.

"Enough to give us a nice bonus when we reach Zorvak'Mur, that's for certain," the head duergar grinned, testing the weight of his battleaxe in his hands.

Jen smiled back. "And there was me, hoping you'd learnt how to speak Common by simple trading alone... but no. You're slavers, aren't you?"

The first duergar continued to grin at her and bowed his head at her, mocking her.

"You're a smart one, I'll give you that. Although that won't matter much where you're going," he smirked, and without another word, all five duergar advanced on the lone half elf,their weapons raised.

Quickly delving deep into the well of arcane power that Jen had been nurturing within herself since she first met the duergar, the half elf jumped up and flung her arms wide, discharging a massive, crackling electrical field from her body that went off with an almost subsonic boom, temporarily stunning her foes whilst bright arcs of electricity physically danced and spat over their stout bodies. Landing lightly upon the rocky ground, she immediately span on the spot and threw out a trail of fire from both palms that then wove itself into an intricate net of flame around her, meaning that anyone who tried to directly assault her would have to brave the fiery mantle she had now surrounded herself with; bringing Enserric to bear, she then paused to weigh up what the duergar would do next with a snarl.

o0o

Valen had continued to creep away, trying to remain as silent as he possibly could, still hoping that he could get away with some of his dignity intact before the half elven rogue inevitably found him, until he heard the unmistakable rumble and subsequent crackle of a large spell going off. Pulling up short, the tiefling didn't have to think twice; dignity be damned. Whirling around, he ran back towards the blast, this time hoping all the while that Jen was actually still following him and wasn't the source of the explosion as he feared with a dreaded certainty that she might be.

o0o

Making his way back thoughtfully to the little clearing where the rest of his companions had bedded down for the night, Xen'shai mulled over the events of his little tête à tête with the half elf. Jehk'ril was right... she was ripe, and if it hadn't have been for the disturbance, he had no doubt he would have been indulging in the rather more pleasurable aspects of his current personal mission rather than going to fetch the rest of their little troop.

With a resigned sigh, the Deathsinger reminded himself that more often than not, it was the chase that proved the more satisfying feature of any inveiglement, whether it was planned or not, and that if there was one thing he had on his side, it was time; the surfacer was obviously only really used to the clumsy flirtations of the humans she had grown up with, and so surmised that she knew next to nothing of the actual art of seduction. What made things even better was that with the tiefling, with his boorish, uncouth attempts at keeping him from her was now out of the way and so there really was no excuse; the Last Remnant was as good as his Lord's, just as the half elf was a good as his. Allowing himself a particularly cruel, self satisfied smile at these future prospects, Xen'shai lengthened his stride and prepared himself to rouse the others.

Just as he entered the clearing, the Deathsinger heard the distant yet unequivocal crack of a powerful spell being released. His eyes widening in shocked realisation that there were only two people he knew that could possibly cast such a spell in the near vicinity – and that one of the them was currently regarding him with a confused look upon his face – Xen'shai quickly surmised that the half elf had either cast the spell herself... or someone had cast it at her.

o0o

Heading as quickly as he could towards the source of the blast, Valen quickly drew Devil's Bane from its holster just in case, hoping that he wouldn't have to use it, but knowing deep in his gut that this inevitably would be the case.

Cresting the ridge by the edge of the tunnel mouth, the tiefling was greeted by the sight of five duergar fighting what looked like a writhing mass of flame. Watching it, it kicked off the side of the tunnel wall and used the momentum of its jump to give itself a height advantage to let off a volley of magical orbs at the assembled deep dwarves before slicing down, sword leading, it took the Weapon Master a second to figure out that it was indeed Jen, recognisable mainly due to her oddly balletic yet chaotic style of fighting.

With a roar, the tiefling burst from the ridge, bringing his flail down in front of him with such violence that his intended target literally hadn't a hope in the hells of avoiding it; smashing Devil's Bane down upon the duergar's head, Valen stove dwarf's brains in with one, ferocious hit. His sudden arrival at the scene in turn caused the other duergar to pause, allowing Jen to strike forward with Enserric and bury it deeply in another duergar's chest; spluttering blood, the dwarf slumped forward on to his knees as Jen ripped her blade from his chest and swept it across the side of his neck, severing the large artery that pulsated there with a violent spray of crimson.

As her victim sank to the ground in pool of his own lifeblood, the half elf looked up, expecting to see dark, lithe forms coming to her assistance; upon seeing the tall, crimson haired figure of the one person she thought had abandoned her forever, Jen tripped in surprise. Taking advantage of her temporarily prone form, the head duergar Yorag hefted his battleaxe and brought it down in a broad swoop; realising only just in time, the rogue quickly rolled to one side and suffered a painful clip to the shoulder for her efforts. This was, however, far more preferable to the killing blow the deep dwarf had lined himself up for, and so rolling to her feet, Jen twisted again to avoid another attack, using the momentum of her spin to bring Enserric slashing forward. Unfortunately, she did not have enough power behind the attack and it bounced harmlessly off his armour; it was then that Valen charged into view, swinging Devil's Bane with such ferocity that, for a split second, Jen was actually afraid that he was coming to attack her. The direct opposite of this soon became apparent, however, when the tiefling struck out with one gauntleted fist which caught the dwarf squarely on the chin before viciously lashing out with his weapon, which instantaneously turned the duergar's rib cage into nothing more that shredded muscle and splintered bone.

This left only two duergar, both of which were now regarding each other with panicked expressions. Dropping their weapons, both tried to make a run for it, but there was no way Jen was going to allow them to escape; gritting her teeth, the half elf once again fell back into herself to bring forth another volley of arcane energy and slapped one hand upon her chest before throwing her arm out, literally ripping the lightning bolt from her chest with a scream. The violence in which she brought forth the spell gave her attack extra power, and as the bolt went streaking off down the tunnel after the two retreating dwarven forms, Jen staggered forward, falling to her knees, panting heavily.

It was worth it, though; both duergar were struck with such force that their heavy, metal armour began to melt, driving them both to the ground as they shrieked in agony. Needing no further encouragement, Valen then sped forwards and finished both of them off easily with one, cruel swoop of his flail.

Satisfied that both duergar were indeed dead, the tiefling nodded grimly before turning back and running the short distance to where the half elf was still kneeling, her hand upon her chest, her eyes closed. Slowing up as he approached her, he could see that she had already sheathed Enserric and seemed to be struggling to take in a deep breath; coughing a little, she hawked up a wad of blood and spat it onto the ground, where it landed with a sickening splat. Alarmed, Valen dropped Devils Bane and quickly crouched down next to her, his face the picture of concern as he gingerly laid a hand upon her shoulder.

Feeling his hand upon her, Jen jerked herself away, unable to look up at him as her thoughts whirled back and forth in a confusing manner, making her feel giddy.

_He had come back. _

_For some, unfathomable reason, Valen had returned. _

It took the half elf a long moment to gather the strength – and the courage – to open her eyes. At first, she wasn't sure whether it was the blood in her mouth or the fact that some small, unrecognised part of her had resigned herself to the fact that she would never see the Weapon Master again that was making her feel sick; in the end, she settled on the blood, simply because she didn't think she could cope with even considering the second option at that moment.

_He had come back. Why?_

Wiping her mouth with the back of her left forearm and leaving a bloody trail along one bracer as she did so, Jen eventually glanced up.

The tiefling still wore the same look of intense defiance upon his face, and his cerulean eyes, so like two chips of ice, still drilled into her, but Jen could still sense that there was something different about the way he looked at her; some of the mocking contempt - the all encompassing disdain that he had always previously held for her – had seemingly gone from his expression, but rather than mollifying her, however, it for some reason infuriated her.

_He had come back._

Struggling to her feet, Jen shook off Valen's attempts at helping her stand with a growl, and withdrew her waterskin, using it as an excuse to delay the moment when she inevitably had to speak to him. Taking a long swig to rinse her mouth, she turned her head and spat the bloody water from her mouth over her shoulder.

The tiefling made no attempt to speak to her and just watched her, his brow creased in consternation.

Rotating her injured shoulder, the half elf went to retrieve a potion from her belt pouch just as the Weapon Master stepped closer to her and reached out with one hand to inspect her wounds. Slapping his hand away with an angry snarl, Jen glared at the tiefling as she pulled the cork from her potion bottle with her teeth; spitting the stopper out, she then drank the potion down and instantly felt a little better.

Now that the pressure had been relieved from her chest, Jen straightened up properly and regarded Valen coldly.

He looked awful.

Half healed wounds decorated his body, whilst red-brown smears of dried blood flecked his armour. Although he still retained the same, cold intensity she had recognised before, she could now see that he looked harried and tired, ironically mirroring exactly how she herself looked and felt.

They continued to stare at each other for a long moment before the tiefling broke the silence first.

"She's coming for you," he said quietly.

To that, Jen said nothing.

"She knows you're out here."

"Well, thank you for that, Valen. Thank you for telling me something that wasn't already blindingly obvious to me. Thank you." Jen's voice was tight and clipped as a blisteringly hot surge of sheer fury burned through her and at that precise moment, all she knew was that she wanted to hurt him; hurt him as he had hurt her. She didn't know why it mattered so much and quite frankly, she didn't care – that wasn't the point; all she knew was that she was furious with him in a way she had never been with anyone before, and as far as she was concerned, he was going to pay.

Stiffening slightly, the Weapon Master's instinctual response to the ferocity of her demeanour was to fight fire with fire; before he could stop himself, he brought himself up to his full, impressive height and towered over the diminutive half elf, his eyes burning with azure fire. Rather than back down, however, Jen squared up to him, her own anger matching his bruised ego in every way possible, a direct challenge twisting her fair face into something wild and menacing; this in turn caused him to mirror her challenge out of sheer self preservation, and it was only realisation that they had parted on such terms that brought the tiefling back to himself. Blinking rapidly, he forced himself to back down away from her – something he had never done for anyone before – and took a deep breath.

"I... I guess I deserved that," he said eventually, his voice barely above a whisper as he wrestled his own temper back under control.

To this, Jen said nothing, her anger still plain.

Sighing in exasperated frustration, the tiefling shrugged his shoulders helplessly, knowing exactly what she wanted him to say but unsure of how to say it.

Upon hearing this sigh, Jen narrowed her eyes; believing it was aimed at her, she began to stalk away.

Running a hand through his hair, Valen watched Jen leave with a dull ache in his chest. He was acutely aware that whilst there was little he could say to even begin to make amends for what he had done at that particular point in time, he knew that he couldn't just let her walk away from him without trying.

"Jen..." he sighed wearily, allowing a hint of the apology she so deserved and so obviously wanted to enter is voice.

At that, the half elf's heart jolted painfully in her chest and she stopped, but did not turn around.

He had never called her by her name before.Yes, he had referred to her as Jenalil in the past, but he had usually just called her 'the half elf'.

He had never, however, called her Jen.

Hearing his slow footsteps behind her, the rogue was caught between two, confusing, conflicting desires: one was simple enough – to simply slap him and leave; the other, however, was far more complicated and hard to understand – the desire to simply give in and hold him close out of the sheer relief that he was safe.

"Jen," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "You were right. The drow... they weren't heading to Lith My'athar. I.. I should... should never..."

Again, Valen's words were met with a stony silence.

"I'm sorry."

At his apology, Jen glanced at back around him for a second.

"Sorry for what? That the Valsharess has it in for me?" the half elf spat spitefully and turned away, the deep, furious anger fusing to something hard and unyielding in the confines of her body. "How selfless of you."

Recoiling a little from her words, he paused again to stare at the tunnel roof, trying to find the right thing to say before he reached out with one hesitant hand to touch her lightly upon her uninjured shoulder in an attempt to reinforce his apology.

"I should never have left you."

Jen tensed slightly at his touch, but did not shrug his hand off this time, nor snap back at him; instead, for a long moment, all she could do was stare at the tunnel floor.

"If you don't want me here, I understand; I'll respect your decision-" he started.

Jen snorted cynically, interrupting him.

"Respect my decision? _You_?"

"Yes."

Although the tiefling uttered this affirmative with more sincerity than she had even heard from him before, the half elf snorted again in almost amused disbelief before falling silent; dropping his hand from her shoulder, the tiefling closed his eyes, briefly wondering exactly how he had imagined this scenario would play out, inwardly admitting that although he had expected her to be angry with him for leaving, he hadn't quite expected this level of hostility.

Now completely at a loss to as to what to say, Valen lapsed into silence once more.

"Do as you see fit," Jen said eventually, her tone brusque. "It's your decision. I'm not your mistress."

"I know, but-"

"Jen!!"

The shout came from ahead of them, from the direction of the mushroom grove; starting forward, Valen castigated himself soundly within the confines of his head for leaving Devil's Bane lying on the floor a good ten feet away. Instead, he instinctively put himself between the half elf and whoever had called out to them, preparing himself to fight tooth and claw if need be, but his worry soon evaporated away when he saw that it was Nathyrra running towards them with Deekin in tow.

"Jen, are you all right? We heard a sp-" Upon seeing the tiefling, the drow assassin stopped abruptly as an incredulous look spread across her face. "_Valen?!_ What are... when did you... you're back?"

Glancing to one side, the tiefling simply nodded as Nathyrra closed the gap between them.

"What changed your mind?" she asked, her confusion plain.

Valen shook his head, unwilling to meet the drow's searching look. "Long story."

Frowning for a moment, the drow then looked ahead, her crimson eyes growing wide at the sight of the duergar bodies. "What in the Abyss happened here?"

At that, Jen stepped forward.

"Even longer story." She then glanced at Valen. "If you're coming... we may as well go back. No point hanging around out here." Then, without waiting for an answer, she made her way towards the group of drow that had assembled a good few feet behind Nathyrra without so much as a backward glance.


	21. A Demon's Fury

_Thanks, stellaria11 for pointing out a couple or typo's - I was so freakin' tired when I posted this originally, I'm surprised it actually makes any kind of sense at all!_

Chapter 21 – A Demon's Fury

If the remaining drow were surprised at the return of the tiefling to their ranks, they didn't show it outwardly; rather than question him as to where he had been, they simply nodded to Valen, their faces carefully devoid of any emotion whatsoever. Only Szinaufein surreptitiously glanced from one face to another: first Nathyrra, then Valen and, finally, Jen. Frowning slightly, the young ranger was alarmed to see that the usually buoyant half elf was looking decidedly dour, the dark shadows of exhaustion that circled her eyes only accentuating this impression as she stood silently, almost as if she was reluctant to actually say anything at all. Having noticed this herself, Nathyrra then took the initiative and ordered them all to move swiftly away from the scene of the duergar ambush lest it attract scavengers or other, more unsavoury foes their way, and so the now reunited troop made their rather tense way back to the fungal grove. Rizonym and Tsabandiir were the last to leave since the former had volunteered to stay and behind for a moment and clear the bodies of the deep dwarves from the path, and since wherever the the scarred warrior went, the Darkmask wasn't far behind, Tsabandiir went with him.

It didn't take them long; striding up behind the group to catch up as they moved off, both drow now clutched what looked like a collection of old, battered helms in their arms – five between them, enough for each of the duergar Jen and Valen had slain. Muttering something in drow to Xen'shai, the Darkmask had raised a silvery eyebrow at the Deathsinger before they both cast Jen an appraising look. Xen'shai then took one of the helms from the cleric and strode over to where the half elf was now walking a little dejectedly behind Nathyrra, but in front of the tiefling.

o0o

Jen had never been so grateful for Nathyrra's presence than she was at that particular moment, given her own exhausted and decidedly confused state of mind. She put most of it down to sheer tiredness and, after the assassin had given her a furtive glance, obviously assessing whether the half elf was wanting to question Valen alone, Jen glanced away and gladly allowed the assassin to interrogate the tiefling as to why he had returned, all the while ignoring the odd, surreptitious looks he kept throwing her way as he obviously wondered why she wasn't taking the initiative in all of this. At first, Jen had expected the volatile warrior to to blow up and pour scorn over the drow at this treatment, but although he answered her questions in short, abrupt sentences and gave away only the sparsest of information that he could get away with, his usual air of arrogance still firmly intact, he kept his temper in check, all the while continuing to glance Jen's way occasionally, as if checking to see what her response to his answers was. He needn't have bothered, however, as Jen wasn't really listening; she had already made up her mind to corner him and make him answer her properly once she had caught up on some sleep and therefore was more mentally prepared for him, and so at the moment, she was determined not to think about anything that might keep her up longer than absolutely necessary.

She had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't going to be a successful tactic, however.

"Jallil d'Ssussun?"

A smooth and deep yet melodious voice cut through Jen's reverie, something about its tone forcing her to abandon her own, rather disjointed musings and concentrate upon it instead. Closing her eyes briefly, the half elf sighed.

"What is is, Xen'shai?"

Upon saying the Deathsinger's name, she suddenly felt a wave of heat break over her; blinking, she frowned a little and glanced around, trying to ascertain its source, only to be met by the icy, unblinking gaze of the tiefling.

"Jenalil? Are you all right?" Forgoing what he was about to suggest, Xen'shai gave Jen a concerned look before stretching out one arm and touching her lightly upon the forearm. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing..." Jen replied slowly, shaking her head, trying to ignore the strange heat that seemed to be pulsating from the Weapon Master, making her feel slightly odd. "Nothing is wrong. Tired, that's all." She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers as she tried to clear her now swimming vision. "Can this wait?"

"Yes... yes, of course it can." The Deathsinger then ran his hand lightly down the half elf's forearm and tried to lace his fingers with hers, a possessive gesture that did not go unnoticed by the tiefling. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"She said she was fine!" Valen suddenly snarled from the side, all but pushing Xen'shai away; the heat Jen was now experiencing was reaching almost unbearable levels, making her feel strangely light headed. "Leave her be!"

To this, the drow bard scowled. "I was just enquiring," he shot back, his tone low with more than a hint of menace to it. "May I suggest that you continue on ahead? It looks like the Jallil d'Ssussun could so with some air."

Narrowing his eyes at the Deathsinger, a flash of intense hatred flickered across the Weapon Master's face as he spoke, his voice low and not without its own hint of threat. "If that is the case, then maybe you should continue on as well?"

Offering Valen a coolly calculating look, one side of Xen'shai's lips lifted in a small, sardonic smile which caused Valen to step forward and glower threateningly down at the shorter male. The tiefling's attention was immediately broken, however, by a small gasp from the half elf, his previous hostility towards Xen'shai immediately transforming into acute concern when he saw just how pale Jen looked, small beads of sweat now standing proud from her forehead as she stumbled slightly.

"Jen," Valen murmured, shoving Xen'shai roughly away and extending a hand to catch her before she fell. "Are you okay?"

"Hot..." the half elf mumbled. "I... I don't feel so good..."

With that, Jen slumped forwards.

Alarmed, the tiefling knelt down, gently guiding her now senseless form to the ground, taking time to spare Xen'shai a particularly venomous look as the Deathsinger knelt by her side and tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her pale face, a mocking reminder of their earlier, rather more secret liaison.

Growling slightly at this recollection, his tail thrashing from side to side, the tiefling felt the demon within surge forwards once again, trying to take advantage of his current hostile state of mind; just as it threatened to consume him once again, Jen shifted in his arms uncomfortably, a small, painful moan escaping her as she did so.

"So hot..."

Realising that her complaint coincided almost perfectly with his demon's surge, the tiefling almost dropped her.

"What's wrong with her?" Xen'shai whispered, all trace of his former antagonism towards the Weapon Master now lost. "Poisoned?"

Swallowing hard, Valen fought the demon down with as much violence as he dared and shook his head, unwilling to share his own, uncomfortable suspicions as to the reasons behind half elf's current condition.

"She took a clip from a battleaxe... injured herself when she cast a spell... but I didn't see any evidence of any poison... I don't think..." Cursing himself for not thinking of this possibility before, the tiefling looked up to see the other drow and Deekin staring down at the three of them, a distinctly worried air about them. "Rizonym! Did you pick up any of the duergar weapons?"

Nodding slowly, the scarred drow removed his backpack and brought forth two battleaxes, a light mace and a selection of daggers; crouching down beside the Weapon Master, he presented them to Valen one at a time. Ignoring the daggers and the mace, the tiefling nodded towards the battleaxes, all of a sudden unwilling to let the half elf go and leave her for even a second to the ministrations of the Deathsinger, who was now unbuckling the shoulder guards from her armour so he could check the wound she had received.

Nathyrra then joined Rizonym, a look of worried puzzlement upon her angular features. "Did you say she injured herself when she cast a spell?"

"Yes," the tiefling answered distractedly. "Not important now. Check those battleaxes, will you?"

Casting the half elf a deeply worried look, the assassin just nodded, grasped the handle of the nearest weapon and inspected its head. Finding nothing, she dropped it quickly and did the same for the second axe; this time, however, she found the remains of a thin, sticky black substance clinging to the metal, almost imperceptible against the dull grey of weapon's bladed head. Feeling her mouth turn to ash, Nathyrra took one of the daggers and scraped as much of the glutinous mixture off the axe as she could.

"Xen'shai was right; there is something on this blade." She sniffed it gingerly before looking up and passing it to Szinaufein, who was now standing behind her, with a frown. "If I know my poisons, that shouldn't do anything but make her feel a bit drowsy; the slavers use it to make their marks more amenable. She certainly shouldn't be burning up like this..."

"Maybe it's a mixture of the poison plus the fact that she is absolutely exhausted?" Xen'shai broke in, giving Valen a poisonous look of his own. "It has been a stressful day all round; the battalion, the fighting, blaming herself for the Errdegah-chath's departure-"

"That's not helping, Xen'shai," Nathyrra interrupted quietly as she watched a spasm of something akin to guilt followed by a scowl of anger cross the Weapon Master's face. "But you do have a point. Maybe it is just the stresses of the day..." She shrugged her shoulders, all the while unable to help but notice the almost frightened look the tiefling was giving the recumbent form of the half elven rogue as she stirred restlessly once again before slumping back into his arms.

"Boss?" Deekin crept forward, his voice croaky with worry. "Boss... you okay? You need Deekin help?"

Nathyrra shook her head. "She won't answer you, Deekin..."

"Boss?" The kobold knelt besides the tiefling and took one of Jen's hands in his scaly, clawed ones, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Wake up, Boss..."

"Tsabandiir; do you have a spell that will help neutralise the poison within her?" Xen'shai asked tersely as he continued to stroke Jen's damp hair, his attention still fixed firmly upon the half elf. At first, the Darkmask watched the display of affection that the Deathsinger was demonstrating with an intense loathing, but after a short pause, he stepped forwards and nodded.

"Siyo," he answered eventually. Reaching for a pendant that hung around his neck, the cleric then closed his eyes and began to mutter the words of a prayer under his breath, which, much to his surprise, was almost immediately answered by his usually capricious god. Extending one faintly glowing hand, the Darkmask touched the now exposed wound upon the half elf's shoulder and discharged the spell he had woven.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Tsabandiir looked up at Xen'shai.

"If it was the poison alone affecting her, she should now be awake," he hissed. "It isn't just the poison that is affecting her; something else is at play here."

At his words, Valen felt his heart plummet.

_This is ridiculous... it can't be. How? How can she... no. There's no way she can sense it. _

_Is there?_

"We can't stop here," the tiefling said gruffly after a moment's pause and, much to the obvious annoyance of the Deathsinger, gathered Jen fully into his arms before standing up, cradling her against him whilst a small, detached part of his subconscious marvelled at how small and light she seemed at that moment. "Where have you set up camp?"

"In the fungal grove," Nathyrra replied as she extended a hand to check the half elf's pulse, frowning once again as it fluttered erratically against her searching fingertips. "What in all the Abyss is wrong with her? It's not a big wound and the poison should just make her drowsy, as if she had taken a little to much wine..." The assassin shrugged her shoulders before glancing back up at the Weapon Master, a ghost of a smile breaking through her grave expression. "Typical, isn't it? Something like this happening... Well, for what it's worth: welcome back."

To that, Valen couldn't help but offer back a small, if weary, smile of his own.

o0o

Jen didn't stir all the way back to the grove, but as Valen calmed down, so did the half elf's breathing and by the time they reached their makeshift camp, she was actually asleep. The change from fevered unconsciousness to true sleep had been swift, heralded by Jen's attempt to shift her weight into a more comfortable position within the circle of the Weapon Master's arms, causing her to rest her cheek against his chest. At this, Valen felt a tiny but sharp swell of tenderness – a neglected emotion he hadn't considered in a long time, let alone felt – before he mentally shook himself, chastising himself for having such ridiculous thoughts and surmising that they were purely a product of his own tired state of mind.

Locating her bedroll amongst the others, the tiefling gently laid her down and covered her up, taking a moment to ensure she was as comfortable as possible, after which he watched her for a mere second as she snuggled herself down in to her blankets with a small sigh. It was then that Nathyrra joined him; looking up at him as he quickly stood up, the assassin nodded gratefully before kneeling down beside her surfacer companion, as if she wished to check her current state for herself.

Smoothing back the half elf's hair, Jen fidgeted slightly in her sleep, a small smile curving her lips as she drew her knees up to her chest and curled herself around Nathyrra's hand, a childlike gesture that in turn caused the assassin to smile down at the slumbering surfacer.

Satisfied that she was indeed all right and just in need of a good night's rest, the drow female extricated her hand and stood up next to the tiefling.

"Well, that was scary..." she murmured to him, raising both eyebrows in a gesture of relief. "Thankfully she seems none the worse for wear. I wonder what caused it?"

Valen just shrugged his shoulders, carefully avoiding the assassins eyes.

"Well, whatever it was, it seems to have passed now." She then gave the tiefling a small, appreciative smile. "You did well back there. I knew you wouldn't let us down."

For a long moment, the Weapon Master just regarded the floor before glancing up again at Jen's recumbent form.

"I nearly did," he said quietly, fixing his attention once again upon Nathyrra. "I nearly left."

"Don't say that," the drow chided affectionately. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Valen. No matter what you say, I know you too well; you simply wouldn't allow that to happen."

Sighing, Valen pushed his hair out of his eyes, hooking the errant locks behind one sharp ear before sitting heavily upon the ground, unsure of how to respond to the drow's vote of confidence. Sinking to the ground next to him, Nathyrra patted his shoulder; feeling the tension he held there, she shook her head, her smile taking on a wry edge.

"You don't have to hate her," she commented softly. "She didn't ask for this."

"I know," the tiefling whispered back, his attention once again fixed upon Jen. "But I have to. For my own sanity."

"Why?" Nathyrra asked incredulously. "Is your pride worth that much?"

Again, the tiefling lapsed into silence.

"How long have I known you, Valen?" the assassin asked suddenly. "It must be years now. We've fought together side by side countless times... and yet still you try to hide your true self from me. Despite my best efforts, you've always kept something from me." She paused with a sigh, as if struggling to put her thoughts into words. "Hiding won't make the doubts go away... won't make you any less vulnerable. Nor will it make things any easier. I should know. Goddess knows, I've tried..."

Valen allowed his attention to slide from the half elf to the drow for a moment, but still remained silent as he drew his knees up under his chin. Recognising this as a defensive gesture, Nathyrra sighed once more before standing up.

"One day, you'll regret this. One day, when all this is over... you'll realise what you've missed; what you've sacrificed." Following the tiefling's gaze, the drow shook her head ruefully; when she spoke, however, she did so under her breath, her words intended for herself and herself alone

"She'll grow tired and move on... just like I did."

o0o

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. One by one, the remaining drow took their watches, Nathyrra allowing Valen to sleep even though she knew he would grumble about it when he finally awoke; she thought it was worth his ire, however considering just how tired he looked when he finally dragged his bedroll from his pack and curled himself in a rather worrying - but endearing, nonetheless - way around Devil's Bane, before giving in to his exhaustion at last.

Awakening slowly, Jen felt a moment of disorientation as she sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she felt her back twinge from sleeping upon the hard ground; feeling her spine crackle as she stretched, she smiled sleepily at the dark forms that were ambling around, packing things away in backpacks.

"Jallil d'Ssussun sleep good?"

Jumping a little, Jen turned and grinned sheepishly at Szinaufein, who was standing with his bedroll in his hand, looking as earnest as usual.

"I slept okay," she answered, smiling. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

Szinaufein frowned a little. "Sleep okay. You give us fear, though. Even Errdegah-chath fear."

It was then Jen's turn to frown. "Fear? What do you mean?"

"Dos zhahen tuain't... udos zhahen stre." Szinaufein then paused, trying to translate the phrase in his head; before he could do so, though, Jen held up a hand to forestall him.

"Hang on – let me try to work it out... tuain't... tuain't... that means poisoned, doesn't it?"

The ranger nodded gravely. "Yes. Poisoned."

"_I_ was poisoned?"

Again, Szinaufein nodded. "Siyo. Yes."

"I don't remember..." Jen trailed off as a flicker of memory tickled the back of her mind. "I remember feeling hot," she muttered, almost to herself. "Hot... and anger. A lot of anger." Surreptitiously, she glanced around herself and felt a slight jolt when she found what she sought.

_So, he __**had**__ returned..._

"You fall down. Sleep long. But sleep good!" The ranger then treated her to a boyish grin that lit up his whole face. "I glad you good."

"Bel'la dos, Szinaufein," Jen replied, unable to do anything else but grin back at the young drow. "Uh, did I say that right?"

"Perfect!" Szinaufein's grin stretched wider. "You say perfect! Not long now – you speak drow good like I speak surface tongue." The ranger dropped down beside her. "Then maybe we move to surface elf, yes?"

"You want to learn elven?" At his earnest nod, Jen couldn't help but smile and momentarily link her arm with his. "Why?"

"When I am in Night Above, then surface elf know not all ilythiiri bad. Some ilythiiri want together. Live with peace."

Muddling through his words, Jen's smile took on a much more gentle cast when she realised what he meant. "You want to learn elven so when you go to the surface, they'll realise not all drow want to fight, and that some drow come in peace?"

"Yes."

At this, the half elf felt a rush of touching compassion towards him and couldn't help but lean over and impulsively place a light kiss upon one of the ranger's smooth, obsidian cheeks. Jerking his head back, Szinaufein eyed her warily, smiling nervously; blushing a little, Jen in turn shrugged her shoulders and gave him an affectionate smile.

"For luck. I hope you succeed – be in no doubt that I will vouch for you." She then looked up before giving the young male a decidedly mischievous look. "As will Nathyrra..."

"Nathyrra..." the ranger said her name with some relish before looking around himself, obviously trying to spy the beautiful assassin. "I go help her."

"Help her do what?" Jen asked, cocking an eyebrow and trying to suppress a grin.

Raising an eyebrow as he stood up, the drow gave the half elf a decidedly roguish grin. "Anything she want..."

o0o

Gathering their things together, the small group prepared to leave the mushroom grove, a sudden sense of serious purpose resettling over them as they realised one by one that they were now ultimately preparing to face the first stage of their main purpose.

Realising that they hadn't really thought through this particular stage of their journey, the group debated various tactics, ranging from Valen's suggestion of entering the city and razing it to the ground to Xen'shai's rather less violent option of negotiation; it was then that Rizonym stepped forward and brought forth the helmets that he had scavenged the day before before waiting stoically until there was a natural lull; looking to the Deathsinger for some kind of permission, the scarred drow spoke.

"These helms... they are the ones slavers wear. If we use them, we could masquerade as slavers... we can then gain entry to the city without having to worry. We can assess the situation from the inside."

At his suggestion, Valen snorted. "Pretend to be slavers? How would that fool anyone? Anyway, there aren't enough helms to go around. Some of us would be left unprotected."

"Not so," Xen'shai broke in. "Drow slavers are quite common..."

Realising immediately what the Deathsinger was implying, Jen shook her head. "No. I can't ask you to go in there alone – either we all go together, or we find another way."

For a split second, Xen'shai's attention flickered to his half brother, who said nothing and just raised an eyebrow before fixing his attention back on to the half elf.

"There is another way... but it is not entirely, ah, savoury."

"What do you mean by that?" Valen demanded, feeling the demon begin to rise again; forcing it back down, he glanced a little guiltily at Jen, but if she had noticed, she made no outward sign.

Noticing his look, Xen'shai narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to half elf. "I would not suggest this if there wasn't another choice – indeed, I wished to discuss it with you last night, but regrettably, my ability to do so was rather taken out of my hands..." he shot a small look of intense loathing at the tiefling, who simply crossed his arms over his chest and glared back. "Rizonym collected these helms with an idea in mind; that some of us disguise ourselves as slavers... whilst the others pretend to be thralls-"

"Oh, no – I see where this is going," interrupted Nathyrra, her hand resting upon the hilt of her rapier. "You pretend to be the big bad slaver whilst we get to be the thralls, yes? Not going to happen, Xen'shai."

"I thought Nathyrra could be the head slaver," Rizonym rumbled all of a sudden, ignoring the angry look Xen'shai shot him. "As a female, she would be the most believable."

"Oh. Well, okay... that might work..." Nathyrra took a step back, mollified slightly by the scarred warrior's suggestion. She then stroked her chin with one long ebon finger. "Actually, thinking about it, this might work. I'll pretend to be the head slaver, a handful of drow males at my back with a surfacer thrall..."

"Need I remind you that there are only five helms?" the tiefling broke in, his annoyance plain. "That means four of us have to be thralls."

"And I have to admit, I'm not too keen on being the one who plays at being a thrall," Jen added. "What do those helmets do, anyway?"

"They block the psionic intrusions of the illithid, basically rendering them harmless," Xen'shai replied before smiling a little ruefully. "Well, as harmless as you can consider an illithid, of course..."

"Why don't you be a thrall then, Xen'shai?" Valen growled.

The Deathsinger gave the Weapon Master a disparaging look. "Because any self respecting illithid is going to realise that one of my rank is unlikely to be a thrall when there is a surfacer, a being from the lower planes and a kobold in tow," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Please, Errdegah-chath, I beg of you; leave the thinking to those of us who are used to employing such talents in circumstances other than 'how do I kill this?', hmm?"

At his blatant sarcasm, the tiefling visibly bristled, placing a hand threateningly upon the handle of his flail. Seeing that the whole situation could soon deteriorate into one of violence, Nathyrra then stepped between the two, glaring at Xen'shai and holding a hand up to Valen.

"This gets us nowhere!" she hissed angrily. "Although, as much as I hate to admit it, Xen'shai has a point. Out of all of us. It makes sense that Jen, Valen and Deekin play at thralls. That leaves one more – I suggest Rizonym, simply due to his scars."

The other drow nodded thoughtfully.

"Why Rizonym?" Jen interjected, looking puzzled. "Why is he all the more believable as a thrall?"

"Because his scars mark him as someone punished, Jenalil," Xen'shai answered patiently. "Punished enough to possibly be sold, if you understand me."

"Oh. Okay, that makes sense..."

"I can't believe you're even considering agreeing with this madness, Jen!" Valen exclaimed, looking towards the cavern roof for a moment. "Why play at charades? Just go in there, give them an ultimatum and see what happens. See what the Valsharess has offered them and see if we can better it; if not, attack. Much simpler than all this underhanded subterfuge."

"And a much simpler way to get us killed, Shadowbreath!" Xen'shai hissed back. "I don't know about you, but I don't particularly want to see any of us end up as lunch! We can still do as you suggest, but just entering the city without a good reason makes us an instant target. At least with the helms, we have a good chance of infiltrating the city with the least amount of suspicion regarding our main goal." He then turned to Jen. "But we could debate this all day; the final decision lies ultimately with you, Jenalil. What do you think?"

Running a hand through her hair, Jen took a moment to weigh up all the options presented to her before turning to the drow, carefully avoiding the tiefling's angry eyes.

"I agree with Nathyrra and Xen'shai; as risky as this is, I would rather they had little to no suspicions as to our intent. Although I am less than pleased at having to pretend to be a thrall, it does make sense; the chances of there being a half elven slaver amongst a group of drow is slim to none, whereas the chance of the drow having a surfacer slave is quite high; the same goes for Deekin – and you too, Valen."

At this, the Weapon Master just snorted and turned his head away from her, an angry grimace twisting his mouth.

Deciding to ignore his petulance, Jen continued. "There might even be a chance for us 'thralls' to speak with other slaves; see what the general feelings are-"

"Jen... most of the slaves will be mindless," Nathyrra broke in. "Don't get your hopes up with respect to that, okay?"

At her words, Jen just shrugged. "You never know; it might be worth a shot. If there are slaves who could be convinced to turn against their masters... well, we'll see about that when we come to it."

"Then it is settled," Xen'shai interjected smoothly. "Jenalil, Deekin, Rizonym and the Errdegah-chath are to be thralls; the rest of us, slavers. We should therefore get into our roles." He then picked a helm and inspected it with a distasteful look upon his face. "I must admit, I am wondering if I have drawn the short straw here... do duergar even wash?"

o0o

Picking up a helm each, the drow tried them on for size, each with a look of slight revulsion as they pulled the sour smelling articles over their heads. Taking her helm off first, Nathyrra wrinkled her nose and pulled a face.

"Well, they fit; that's a small mercy." She then turned to Jen and the other would be thralls, her expression serious. "You must remember; no matter what happens, do not react. You are supposed to be under our control; if you betray even the slightest hint of independent thought in front of the illithid, they will realise we are not what we seem. They will most likely leave you alone if they believe you to be thralls – you will be beneath their notice – but until it is well established that is all you are, you must not react, no matter what you see."

Swallowing, Jen nodded. "I understand."

"Good. Then we must prepare all of you."

"Prepare?" Jen looked around to the others, a slightly panicked look to her face.

"Jen – I hate to do this to you, but if the illithid are to believe you are a thrall, you cannot march into Zorvak'Mur wearing highly enchanted armour with an obviously powerful weapon strapped to your belt."

"Okay... I can see that. What am I supposed to wear, then?"

At her question, Nathyrra winced a little and gave her a contrite look. "Well... as little as possible, actually. As the one female thrall..."

Slightly horrified understanding then blossomed within Jen.

"Oh. Great. So, I get to be the whore?"

"Well... no..." the assassin started before sighing apologetically. "Well, okay; yes. Why else would a group of drow keep a surfacer female with them?"

"Nathyrra..." Jen said warningly. "All of a sudden this idea isn't sounding as great as once it did..."

"I know... I know – and I'm sorry. Just remember that you'll have Valen and Rizonym - our 'gladiators' - with you at all times. Remember; it's just a charade."

"Fine," Jen snapped a little grumpily. "So what am I going to wear?"

Looking a little sheepish, the assassin handed over what looked like a small bundle of silk. Eyeing the drow suspiciously, the rogue raised an eyebrow and gave her companion a rather cynical look. "And you just happened to have this with you?"

"What?" Nathyrra exclaimed defensively. "You've got to be prepared for anything-"

"Indeed..." Jen broke in cynically.

"Okay; so you never know when an opportunity is going to present itself. Happy now?" The drow flushed purple. "Just try it on. Please? Otherwise we're going to have to think of another believable role for you."

Rolling her eyes, Jen gave a huge, exasperated sigh before stomping off behind the nearest boulder.

Holding up the garment, Jen's eyebrows shot up her forehead; not so much due to what is was, but more regarding what it wasn't. Cursing the assassin soundly under her breath, the half elf shrugged herself out of her armour and various undergarments before stepping into a pair of gauzy pants and something Jen associated more with certain types of tavern wenches in the more disreputable inns she had avoided in her extensive travels than herself. Grumbling under her breath, she tried to settle the top so that she didn't display such an uncomfortable expanse of cleavage, but it was futile; not only was there not nearly enough material, but there was also the simple fact that although she herself was not overly well endowed, she still had more to offer than Nathyrra. Closing her eyes briefly, the half elf wondered for a brief moment what the assassin had been thinking in handing her this travesty of an outfit – especially with Xen'shai in the group – before kicking her feet into her boots once more and stomping back with a distinctly thunderous air about herself.

Rounding the boulder, she could see that Valen, Rizonym and Deekin had already shed their armour and weapons and were standing around in soft leather underbreeches and woollen vests, looking far more comfortable than she felt. Glowering at Nathyrra, Jen then stomped her way over to her fellow female, trying to ignore each of the males as they turned and watched her passage.

"You look, err, nice," Nathyrra said brightly as the half elf approached, trying to diffuse Jen's obvious fury at being objectified in such a way.

"Just... don't say anything, okay?" the rogue hissed, her arms folded securely over her now rather more ample bosom. "Let's get this over and done with."

Nodding with a smile, the assassin nudged Valen in the ribs, prompting the tiefling to abruptly shut his mouth with an almost audible snap.

"Nice," he agreed, nodding fervently and fixing his gaze roughly three feet above Jen's head, swallowing convulsively. "They'll never guess you're a skilled swordswoman in that."

"Gee. Thanks, Valen," Jen shot back, giving the Weapon Master a withering look. "I'm so glad I play the role of the whore with such conviction."

"Jallil d'Ssussun! You do not look like a whore; not one bit!" Xen'shai broke in, a huge smile threatening to split his face in two as he approached. "You look beautiful!"

Snapping her head around, Jen then treated the Deathsinger to a withering look of his own. "Well, that makes me feel so much better, doesn't it?" She then snapped her fingers furiously in front of the bard's face. "I'm up here, by the way."

Grinning ingratiatingly, Xen'shai met her angry eyes before his gaze was drawn inexorably back down again.

Sighing angrily, folded her arms even more tightly around herself.

It was going to be a long day.


	22. Zorvak'Mur

_This chapter really does belong to Nathyrra... I'm growing rather fond of her. Oh, and apologies – I can't remember the name of the duergar in the bar, and I'm too lazy to go and check. So I made a name up... hehee!_

Chapter 22 – Zorvak'Mur

"I thought we were near Zorvak'Mur?" Jen hissed peevishly as she traipsed behind Nathyrra, trying to shake off the distinctly unpleasant feeling of being hugely under-dressed in such a hostile environment and failing miserably.

"We are," the assassin replied, her tone placating as she glanced apologetically behind her. "It'll only take us about an hour, if that, to get there. We simply can't run the risk of the illithid sensing any subterfuge outside their walls; it's just safer this way."

"But what if we are attacked again?" Jen pouted, aware that she sounded like a petulant, spoilt child, but not really caring. "Why can't I at least have Enserric with me in the mean time?"

Although sympathetic to the half elf's current plight, Nathyrra tried to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at her. "It's like I said," she explained patiently. "We can't run the risk of the illithid suspecting any kind of plot."

"But we might be attacked as soon as we step through the gates."

"That is a possibility: yes."

"And so what happens then?"

The drow sighed. "We'll have to cross that bridge if and when we come to it. At the moment, I'm quite optimistic that this will work – there is no real reason why it shouldn't. It's quite usual for drow slavers to trade with the illithid, and once Jehk'ril has cast the spells that will shield your minds from any cursory intrusions, as long as everyone plays their parts, we should be fine. We just need a chance to speak to the Elders of the city – you never know, we might be able to convince them to withdraw their support without bloodshed."

Jen gave the assassin a cynical look. "Is that likely?"

"Jen,"Nathyrra answered wearily "I don't know. I really don't. If I had all the answers..." she trailed off. "We'll just have to play it by ear. Remember, this is just an attempt – if it doesn't work, then we can go back to Lith My'athar, raise a whole battalion and flatten the place if need be."

"And in order to do this, I need to be dressed like a harlot?"

Closing her eyes, the drow sighed again. "This is just a means to an end, Jen; just try to remember that."

At this, Jen stared moodily ahead of her, still obviously irritated.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry..." Nathyrra said tentatively.

"Not your fault," Jen replied a little sulkily. "I'd be lying if I thought this part of our mission hinged on my ability to look like a harem dancer, but I can see why I have to do it." The half elf plucked at the thin, gauzy material that covered her. "What _is_ this, anyway? It's hardly practical..."

Nathyrra quirked an eyebrow at her, a look of amusement dancing across her delicate features. "It's not supposed to be practical.. well, not in the sense you're implying, anyway."

It was then Jen's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really? And you just happened to have it in your backpack?"

The assassins amused look soon slipped into one of slightly embarrassed defence as she turned away. "Like I said; you never know when you might need it."

"Nathyrra, you're on a mission to break alliances with sworn enemies; exactly where do you think these 'opportunities' were going to come from?"

"Well, you know... always prepared and all that..." She crossed her arms over her chest defensively as Jen's sense of mischievous amusement deepened. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Yes... opportunities..." The half elf looked pointedly ahead of her with a wicked smile firmly in place, towards where Szinaufein was walking alone.

"Stop it," Nathyrra snapped irritably.

"He likes you, you know," the half elf teased.

Rather than comment upon this observation, the assassin looked decidedly uncomfortable for a moment.

"I'm old enough to be his mother."

"So? As far as I can gather, my mother was old enough to be my father's grandmother, and then some."

"He's barely out of adolescence!"

Jen shrugged. "I'd guess that he's not much younger than me; means he'll have stamina, at least. What of it?" she then grinned. "He's a nice lad and he seems quite taken with you – is it such a bad thing?"

Rather than answer her, Nathyrra gave the half elf a decidedly withering look.

"I think you'd be sweet together," Jen grinned. "And you never know until you try..."

Rolling her eyes, the assassin shook her head. "I do know when I'm being teased, you know."

"I'm not teasing!" The half elf contrived to look innocent, but her smirk gave her away. "Okay... maybe a bit. I just believe in taking these chances; no point in saying 'no, it'd never work' and then regretting it for the rest of your life."

Allowing a smile to break through her indignant ire, the drow shook her head. "Funny you should say that..."

"What do you mean?" Jen asked questioningly.

"It's nothing. Just echoes a sentiment I expressed to someone recently, that's all."

"Oh." Jen gave the drow a slightly mischievous look. "So... are you going to take your own advice?"

At this, Nathyrra simply laughed. "You're impossible. Hard to think you were at death's door yesterday."

This caused the half elf to bring herself up short. "Yes... Szinaufein mentioned that this morning. I just remember feeling hot and a bit sick – then nothing. Any clue as to what happened?" she enquired, trying not too sound worried.

"One of the battleaxe's the duergar were using was poisoned. But I don't think that was it entirely," the assassin began carefully. "I don't know what it was. You were pretty tired, though – that mixed with the poison could have affected you..."

"You don't sound so convinced."

"Oh, I'm not saying I know – I don't; it was just.. strange. You certainly gave Valen a scare."

At this, Jen snorted derisively. "Yeah, like he cares."

"You'd be surprised," Nathyrra said artfully, a slight smile playing at her lips. "He was pretty concerned - carried you all the way back to the grove cradled in his arms and wouldn't let anyone else near you."

The half elf gave her companion a surprised but cynical look. "Stop it. I don't believe you; he can't stand me."

The drow arched one snowy eyebrow. "I'm not lying. You know what they say, Jen: it's a fine line..."

All of a sudden feeling a little bit warm despite her scanty clothing, Jen screwed her face up in a show of abject disbelief and shook her head, but took the opportunity to surreptitiously shoot the Weapon Master a quick, enquiring look nonetheless. Devoid of his armour and weapon, the tiefling looked no less intimidating as he strode along, his tail twitching from side to side with his face displaying its usual scowl, paying her no attention whatsoever. Catching her glance, Nathyrra leant in slightly closer to her and offered her a rather significant look.

"It might simply have been the fact that he felt bad for leaving you, I don't know... but whatever it was, take it from me: he doesn't hate you." The drow then smiled a little ruefully. "If anything, I just think he wants a chance. He won't ask for one... but maybe he deserves one?"

To this, Jen said nothing for a long while; yes, she was still angry with the contumacious tiefling for leaving them, but when she scratched the surface of this anger and looked at it in more detail, she found that a lot of it didn't actually stem from his actions alone, but rather from a jumble of inexplicably difficult feelings that his return had inspired within her.

"A.. chance? A chance for what?" she replied eventually, trying to keep her tone light.

Nathyrra shrugged. "I chance to prove himself, I suppose. He really is the type who would cut his own nose off to spite his face if there was just the smallest chance that his pride would be injured; the fact that he came back speaks volumes to me. Appearing strong in front of others is everything to him... as far as I know, you're the only person, apart from the Seer, that he's ever come back for, Jen."

o0o

As it happened, it took the small group less than an hour to reach the environs of Zorvak'Mur. After a rather uncomfortable conclusion to their conversation, the rogue and the assassin had walked the rest of the way in silence, both caught up in their own private thoughts. Just before they approached the cave entrance that marked the beginning of the illithid territory, Jehk'ril took a few minutes to prepare them all by weaving a spell that would allow the four helmless individuals to appear mindless to the illithid as long as their psionic foes only took a cursory interest in them; reminding them earnestly of this fact for one last time, Nathyrra then pulled her own helmet from her backpack and placed it over her head, buckling the strap under her chin. Taking the lead, the female drow then closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself, before lifting her head with a decidedly arrogant air and striding away, her 'thralls' following closely behind. The remaining drow then formed a rough circle around them, a customary formation that the illithid would be used to and so wouldn't raise any undue suspicions.

Taking a deep breath, Jen attempted to stare blankly ahead and relax her stance, but no matter how much she tried, she still felt horribly nervous; feeling something graze the side of her hand, she jumped slightly and looked down, only to see that Valen, who was walking beside her, had extended a finger to briefly brush against hers. Jerking her hand away as a small tremor of surprise rippled through her, she flicked her eyes up to meet his; although his stern, uncompromising façade was still firmly in place, he did offer her a small, imperceptible nod of encouragement before looking away again. Frowning a little, Jen quickly looked to the floor, confused yet strangely buoyed by this vote of unexpected confidence before attempting to smooth her features into an emotionless mask once more.

Finally, after marching in formation for what seemed a good while, they approached a cave entrance that was decorated with ornate, swirling carven designs and lit by glowing blue and purple crystal orbs. The effect was beautiful yet unsettlingly unearthly; in the dim light, the carvings seemed to undulate and dance in front of their very eyes like a nest of writhing snakes, causing Jen baulk slightly and have to take a deep breath to calm her now fluttering heart.

In complete contrast, Nathyrra strode forward without hesitation, the air of arrogance she had constructed around herself now distinctly palpable to those around her. Entering the cave, Jen was surprised to hear the distinct roar of water; turning a corner, she was suddenly confronted with a sizeable, fast flowing waterfall that cascaded over the edge of a sheer cliff-side and plunged directly into the dizzying depths below.

Snorting, Nathyrra paused, resting one hand on her hip, before turning to the drow assembled behind her.

"Jehk'ril – dispel it."

Nodding obsequiously, the helmeted mage stepped forward and raised his hands; after concentrating briefly, the sound of water and sense of dampness began to fade as the illusion dissipated before their very eyes.

What lay beyond the illusionary waterfall, however, was no less impressive.

A flat plain, dotted with makeshift shelters fronted a delicately spun conical spire that stretched hundreds of feet above them; narrowing her eyes briefly, Jen could see that a spiral staircase descended downwards towards the base of the spire which terminated in a finely wrought silver gate that was currently shrouded in a silvery mist that even her circlet could not pierce. Turning her attention to the plain once more, the half elf could clearly see figures wandering aimlessly between the individual dwellings; making their way towards the campanile, she soon realised that although their progress through the near derelict slums seemed directionless at first, upon closer scrutiny, it became obvious that the scores of blank faced drow, duergar and svirfneblin were actually tending a strange kind of lichen that grew upon startlingly large crystal growths: some were watering, others tilling and tending, more were harvesting. It didn't take Jen long to work out that this was probably how the illithid fed their slaves, and judging by the relative decrepitude of these individuals, these were the ones who had all but outlived their use. With this revelation in mind, she found it increasingly hard to maintain her pretence at passivity, especially when she witnessed the appalling conditions in which the thralls that lived there were subjected to, and in the end, she simply had to take comfort that no matter how unpleasant their lives seemed, there was a small mercy in that, judging by their glazed expressions and slack, sometimes drooling mouths, they were in no state to realise.

Arriving at the top of the spiral staircase, a figure stepped forwards; an abberation that Jen had only seen before in books bearing strange, milky eyes, glistening purple skin and four waist length, serpentine tentacles where its mouth should have been: an illithid. Feeling the first stab of real fear since entering the city, Jen realised that this was it - there was simply no turning back now and forced herself to stare unblinkingly ahead with half lidded eyes.

Striding up to the mindflayer, Nathyrra showed no such fear.

"We come to trade," the former Red Sister sneered in drow, tilting her head arrogantly so that despite the fact that she was a good head shorter than the illithid, she still gave the impression she was looking condescendingly down her nose at it.

The illithid's alien face remained blank as it turned to regard her; feeling the creature try to probe her mind before it gave up the attempted mental intrusion with an acute sense of frustration, the assassin smiled a little to herself. The helm, however, did not block the mindflayer's telepathic voice, and so with a mental sigh it deigned to speak with her.

_A drow slaver party? Are you here in connection with the drow female who refers to herself as the Valsharess? _

"No," she answered coldly. "We simply come to trade. Zorvak'Mur is known for its good stock."

_Indeed? _Despite its expressionless countenance, Nathyrra felt a distinct ripple of amusement in the mindflayer's mental voice. _Are you here to sell as well, or just to buy? _With that, the tentacled horror stepped forwards with surprising grace to take a closer look at the four would-be thralls, taking particular interest in Valen. _A tiefling? And a strong looking one at that-_

"We come only to buy," Nathyrra interrupted haughtily, folding her arms over her chest as she spoke. "Stand aside."

_You speak above yourself, drow, _the illithid hissed back, all trace of its former amusement now lost.

"And you have no idea who you are speaking to, haszak," the assassin shot back, showing absolutely no signs of being intimidated "We wish to trade; are you refusing us entry?"

As one, all the drow shifted their collective weight menacingly so that their hands now rested upon the hilts of their swords in a meaningful way. At this open threat, the lone illithid paused before taking a tiny step backwards, tilting its head slightly towards Nathyrra.

_You may enter._

Although her face was fully obscured by her helmet, there was no mistaking the sense of satisfied amusement that the assassin now exuded.

"Good."

Without a further word, she strode forwards.

o0o

Descending the spiral staircase, Jen had to be careful where she placed her feet; in trying to maintain her façade as a thrall, she could not appear to be making any kind of decision as to her current actions, and so was forced into feeling her way with her feet rather than looking where she was going, leaving her feeling unbalanced and vulnerable.

Following Nathyrra through the silvery gate, she found herself having to hold in an involuntary gasp as she entered the illithid city proper.

Located in a vast, glittering cavern that was shrouded in the same, silvery mist as the gate and lit by huge crystal orbs that gave off an eerie turquoise glow, the city stretched over a good mile before her. Like Lith My'athar, the buildings were tall and gracefully constructed, but unlike the drow city, there didn't seem to be a corner nor acute angle to be seen anywhere; everything seemed to flow, almost as if the buildings had been constructed out of a gravity defying viscous liquid rather than rock – an illusion further enhanced by the curiously glossy, opaque nature of their surfaces.

Having taken her boots off before they had entered the entrance cave to further heighten the ruse that she was nothing more than a simple pleasure slave, the half elf became aware that the ground now felt strangely warm and organic beneath her feet – a direct contrast from the cold, hard rock of the cavern above. Trying to shake off the unsettling belief that she was actually entering the belly of some massive beast of yore, Jen continued to descend, this time concentrating upon the scuttling figures below.

There were thralls literally everywhere.

As the figures became clearer, she could see, much to her horrified revulsion, that there were examples of literally every race she could imagine involved in the mindless servitude of the illithid; alongside the usual drow, duergar and svirfneblin there were also vacant looking humans, surface elves of every creed, tiny halflings and gnomes, massive half orcs and even the odd minotaur. In between these multitudes of witless slaves drifted the illithid, each one as alien and sinister as the one they had encountered upon seeking entrance to Zorvak'Mur, occasionally accompanied by the lumbering forms of domesticated umberhulks and small, scampering creatures that looked for all the world like brains upon four, dog-like legs.

Still the drow marched onwards purposefully, looking for all the world as if they belonged there, not once pausing to take in their fantastically sinister surroundings.

The one that surprised Jen most, however, was Deekin. Used to the kobold making a constant litany of inane comments, that he was now playing his role to perfection surprised the half elf, making her swell with an odd kind of pride. She often forgot that his chosen path meant that when it came to situations like this, he was far more prepared for them than she was; suddenly, she felt almost ashamed that she had been entertaining thoughts about trying to find somewhere for the bard to hide whilst they undertook this part of their mission, worried that he would ruin it for them, when in all honesty, if anyone was going to ruin things, it would probably be her.

With that particularly uncomfortable thought in mind, the group finally reached the end if the staircase and stepped down amongst the throng.

A few illithid turned to regard their passage, but on the whole, they were largely ignored. Now completely at a loss as to what they were going to do next, Jen fought down the urge to grab a passer by and ask them where they should go – anything, she realised, for some kind of emotional contact. Nathyrra, however did not stop anyone; instead, she continued to march on towards the only stone-looking building in the whole complex.

_Are you here to trade? _

A voice suddenly entered the half elf's head, speaking, much to her surprise, in Common ; Jen's first instinct was to look around herself to find the source of the question before she remembered herself and just continued to stare blankly forwards, realising that the enquiry had been aimed at the drow and not the thralls.

Pausing before turning her head in a decidedly arrogant manner to regard the mindflayer, Nathyrra nodded curtly.

"Siyo. Udos inbal nym'uerus Zorvak'Mur quaz bwael rothen. Zhah gaer natha shuk yallt?

That the assassin had answered in drow led Jen to believe that whatever the illithid said, it was automatically perceived in the language of the recipient – a useful, if slightly unnerving, skill.

_No... not today. Tomorrow. The other trading parties are currently housed within the stone building yonder. _The illithid waved its tentacles momentarily ahead of itself, gesturing towards the stone building. _There you can rest and stable your thralls... are you selling? _

"Nau. Plyken ."

The illithid stepped forwards and regarded each thrall in turn, pausing in front of each as it weighed up their worth; once again, it was Valen that garnered the most interest, although the mindflayer did pause to run a cold, slimy tentacle over Jen's bare shoulder. Fighting down a sickening wave of revulsion, the half elf fought to keep herself relaxed as possible, acutely aware that any tensing of her muscles would betray her as a fraud, all the while thanking Jehk'ril over and over for his protective spell within the confines of her mind.

Rescue came from an unlikely source as Xen'shai stepped forward and lightly grasped her other shoulder, pulling her backwards out of the illithid's reach.

"'zil udossta jabbress telanthus ; nind ph'naut ulu tlu quazen."

_A shame. _It then turned away from them. _The stock will be exhibited later; you will be informed. You have free rein within the confines of the market square, but anywhere else is off limits – if you are found there, it will be assumed that you are intruders and will as such be targeted on sight and assimilated. _

"Dos kuuv quarth uns'aa? Udos alu vel'klar udos qualla," Nathyrra replied haughtily, tilting her head imperiously. "Jhal yol udossta isintolulnen wun rothen, nindel zhal'la naut tlu natha priqual. "

With that, she stalked forwards without waiting for a response, her would-be entourage in tow, leaving the illithid standing alone.

o0o

Only too pleased to be able to get away from the eerily silent bustle of the market square, Nathyrra led her troop towards the oddly out of place building in the centre of the square. Upon entering, she felt an odd tingle course through her body; frowning within the confines of her helmet, the assassin fought down the urge to glance nervously around herself, worried that it might be some kind of dispelling field, designed to lift any illusions or spells cast. Finding no evidence that this was the case, she shrugged minutely and studied the room she had entered.

It seemed to be some kind of tavern.

The first thing that struck her was that there were literally no illithid present at all, followed closely by the observation that all the people present had shed their helms and were talking freely amongst each other; small groups of battle-hardened duergar with tankards in hand opposite haughty-looking drow and savage lizardmen shared a relaxed joke, whilst another group of drow played dice with a fiendish looking human female, a couple of half orcs and a minotaur. As they moved between them, all the patrons merely spared the new group that had entered the building the briefest of glances before going back to their conversations; only a small group of duergar by the makeshift bar tended, much to the assassin's surprise, by an ancient looking stone golem regarded them with any interest, probably because their leader, obvious by the huge whip she had strapped to her wide belt, was a fellow female.

Lifting her tankard Nathyrra's way and smiling benevolently, the duergar made an open invitation towards them; deciding it might be a good idea to ingratiate herself with someone she could question and therefore get a better picture of the lay of the land, the assassin nodded and made her way over to join her.

"You're here for the market, I take it?" the duergar started by way of an introduction. "First time in Zorvak'Mur?"

Carefully keeping her distance, Nathyrra nodded. "Our usual haunts have been overrun recently by the one who calls herself the Valsharess; we have been forced to trade further afield. Why do you ask?"

The duergar snorted in amusement before taking a huge swallow from her tankard. "Because you got your helm on in here." She cocked an eyebrow. "If you'd been here before, you would know the 'flayers won't enter this building." She leaned forward conspiratorially; it was at this point that the drow realised she was more than a little drunk. "They pretend it's because they respect our privacy, but it's not; you know that tingling feeling you got before entering here? Keeps 'em out. The flayers. They can't actually enter this place – means we don't need the helms." She grinned. "Makes Zorvak'Mur a much nicer place to trade; gives you a place to rest your head without having to worry about waking up with it empty, if you know what I mean!"

Nodding slowly to show that she did indeed understand, Nathyrra unbuckled the strap under her chin and pulled the helm from her head; running a hand through her now sweaty hair, she turned and gestured to the other drow behind her that they could do the same.

"You don't talk much, do you?" the female quipped, banging her tankard down on the table. "Oi! Golem! Get your stony arse over here!" She leered over the bar as the golem slowly turned to regard her. "Drink!" Watching the stone construct reach down to draw a pint from an ancient looking barrel, the duergar screwed her face up and shook her head emphatically. "Not that swill, y'idiot – the stuff from the bottle!"

With an almost sad air of dejection about it, the golem carefully picked up a wine bottle off the rack behind it and poured a generous measure out.

"I don't usually bother with pansy elf wine, but the beer here is enough to give you gut rot for a month." she winked at Nathyrra. "The name's Ilfra... you?"

"Nathyrra," the assassin replied unsmilingly.

"Well, Nathyrra... you and your boys going to join us for a drink or what?" She looked past the drow female and regarded the others. "You can stable the thralls below. Don't worry about 'em – they'll be treated real nice." Upon spying Jen, however, she gave a cynical grin. "Although, sayin' that, if you don't want the pleasure slave messed with, you might want to instruct yon big fellas-' she gestured to Valen and Rizonym "-to protect her a bit. Braetan and the lads downstairs sometimes like to sample unwatched goods if you ain't careful, and they like to play rough..." Ilfra gave Nathyrra a significant look.

"My merchandise is of the highest quality; I have no wish for any of it be interfered with." Nathyrra gave the slaver a stern, uncompromising look.

"Just have a quiet word with Braetan and threaten to cut his balls off if she comes back bruised n' sticky, then," the duergar said sagely. "Whatever happens, y'don't want the merchandise to be clutterin' up here. Ditch 'em an' join me for a swill."

Caught between not wanting to let her comrades out of her sight and the fact that keeping hold of her 'thralls' when it was clear everyone else had stabled theirs would be seen as slightly odd behaviour, Nathyrra paused before nodding. No matter what, she could at least take them down; if the conditions were too bad, then she could just request a room and leave them up there. Happy with her decision, she offered Ilfra a small, if cool, smile and nodded her head.

"Yes... that sounds like a good idea. We have been travelling for a long time, and there is much we wish to discuss with people more familiar with this region."

"Good... I'll get you in a tankard, then? Or would y'prefer a glass?"

"A glass, please."

"Great!" the duergar took another long pull from her own drink before turning back to the golem bartender. "Another one o' these, but in a glass," she demanded, thumping her hand down on the bartop.

Wincing inwardly at the bawdy behaviour of her unwitting informant, Nathyrra then turned and led her troops off to the door the duergar had indicated – and to where the other thralls were being held.

o0o

Descending the damp steps to what looked for all the world like an old wine cellar, all of the drow playing at slavers couldn't help but cover their noses with one hand at the sour stench, redolent of sweat and other, less savoury things, that emanated from the pens below. Making sure that no one was around, Nathyrra dropped her air of arrogance and turned to face Jen.

"This is a bad idea... I'm not leaving you down here. Come on; we're going back up. I'll request a room and secrete you in there-"

"And make yourself look odd in front of the other slavers?" Jen interrupted, her face set in a determined grimace. "Not a good idea, Nathyrra. I appreciate you trying to prevent us from having to spend time in such a place, but like you said, we can't run the risk of standing out. Besides... there are other thralls down here. This might give us a chance to have a word with a few-"

"They'll be mindless!" the drow interrupted with an exasperated whisper. "I don't know what your plan is, Jen, but you're not going to be able talk to anyone."

"You never know," Jen shrugged. "If we can get even one slave out of this situation with their mind intact, then that's good enough for me."

"We aren't here to save people; we're here to try to break the alliance," Nathyrra reminded her, her voice tight. "If we start playing at heroes, this could all go very wrong very quickly."

"Be as that may, I still want to check this place out."

Rolling her eyes, Nathyrra sighed angrily. "Okay, do what you want. But you heard that duergar – it sounds like the slave master here is one you don't want to cross."

"Good job I'm down here, then," Valen interjected, looming over both the females in the poor light, making him look even more intimidating than usual, if that was indeed possible.

"I thought you at least might be on my side, you know," Nathyrra shot back a little sarcastically. "Down here, you're out of the action."

"I don't think so," the tiefling replied, his expression grim. "There's something here... something I can't explain. A taste of war.. a hint of insurgency, maybe... I don't know. But it emanates from below."

Surprised, Jen glanced up at the Weapon Master. "You feel it too?"

Throwing up her hands, Nathyrra looked supremely displeased. "What is it with you two?! I feel nothing other than an acute sense that we are about to make one hell of a big mistake!"

At this little outburst, Jen shrugged her shoulders before giving the tiefling a long, searching look, which he returned.

"I... don't know," he replied eventually. "But whatever it is, something is telling me there is more afoot here than we know. What that is, though... I have no idea."

Agreeing with the tall tiefling, Jen nodded. "Whatever it is, I feel it too. It's not overwhelming... but it's there – something that hints to... negativity. But... positively?" the half elf frowned. "It's confusing. And I for one want to find out what it is."

"Me too," Valen agreed, taking the opportunity to rest a hand briefly upon Jen's shoulder in a surprising show of solidarity. "Don't worry – I'll keep her safe."

"I am more than capable to keeping myself safe, you know," Jen shot back, shaking the Weapon Master's hand off even as she felt a small thrill chase its way down her spine, in an effort to remind the tiefling that she was still annoyed with him for his earlier behaviour, and that he had essentially not yet been forgiven. Seeing Valen's face harden and his jaw tighten at her hostility to his protective gesture, however, she felt a small, involuntary twinge of regret and couldn't help by relent a little. "But it is... good to know, nevertheless. Thank you, Valen."

At her thanks, the tiefling did not smile, but he did incline his head towards her slightly, acknowledging the sentiments behind her words with far more grace than she ever thought he would ever show her.

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, I think you're both insane... but the decision is ultimately yours," Nathyrra sighed, showing no sigh as having noticed anything pass between the tiefling and the half elf. "Rizonym, Deekin; your thoughts?"

"Deekin goes where Boss goes," the kobold piped up immediately, to no-one's surprise.

"Rizonym?"

For a moment, the scarred drow regarded his mate; at first, it looked like he was going to refuse and stay with Tsabandiir, but instead, the warrior nodded ponderously and looked to Jen.

"I go where the Jallil d'Ssussun goes," he said gravely. "I am sworn to protect her also."

"Then it's settled," Jen said, peering down the dark staircase, trying to ignore the angry spasm that crossed Tsabandiir's face. "Whether it's wise or not... let's go and find out what's going on here..."


	23. Slaves

_Just a minor warning for language... ;)_

Chapter 23 – Slaves

Much to their chagrin, the small group could now clearly see that their destination was not a former wine cellar, but was actually sizeable disused sewer that stretched as far as even the keen eyes of the drow could see in the gloom, its walls and vaulted ceiling glistening with damp whilst the straw underfoot squelched in an decidedly unsavoury manner. The unpleasant smell that had wafted up the stairs as they climbed down was nothing compared to the almost acrid stench that assaulted their nostrils upon entering the high-ceilinged dungeon; scampering up to them, a human that looked more rodent than man fawned in front of Nathyrra, grinning at her with blackened, rotting teeth and a sallow face whose cheeks were studded with pustules.

"Yes, my mistress?" he hissed, bobbing his head. "What is your pleasure?"

"I need stabling for my merchandise," the drow replied, trying not to gag. "Do you think you can accommodate me?"

"Why, yes!" the man near squealed, "let me see if Braetan is available..." He then craned his neck to look behind the drow female, his eyes lighting up in an almost obscene manner as he caught sight of Jen. "Such pretty merchandise, if I may say so-"

"No, you may not," the assassin snapped back, taking a threatening step forwards, her hand resting upon the hilt of her rapier. "The female is not for sale; she is from my personal entourage; therefore she will _not_ be touched. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

"Of course, mistress! Of course!" the repulsive man fawned obsequiously. "Nary a hair upon her pretty head shall be touched!"

"Well then, what's all this fuss about?" A thickset duergar waddled up, a grin plastered across a face that spoke not of welcome, but of violence. "Cant?"

"The mistress is looking for stabling, Braetan," Cant replied. "I was just commenting upon the quality of her thralls."

Pursing thick lips fringed by a filthy looking beard, Braetan ran an appreciative eye over Jen's thinly clad body, lingering over the curve of her hips and swell of her breasts. "Whatever the mistress wants..."

Growling in fury, Nathyrra stepped forwards and slapped a clawed hand across the duergar's face, her nails leaving thin, red furrows across his cheek. "I said she is NOT to be touched!"

Still leering, the dwarf simply cocked an eyebrow. "I wasn't touching her, mistress-"

Nathyrra snapped her fingers, interrupting the duergar. "Valen!"

Stepping forwards, the tiefling brought himself up to his full height and glowered down at the slave master.

"Jenalil is to be protected. If anyone touches her – kill them." A ghost of smile touched Nathyrra's black lips as Valen glared menacingly at the two slave masters and nodded slowly, playing his role for all it was worth.

Craning his head up so he could actually take in the whole of the tiefling's impressive stature, Braetan swallowed hard and nodded. "Them's fine terms, mistress. She will not be harmed."

Allowing herself a cruelly self indulgent smile, the former Red Sister patted the Weapon Master upon one well-muscled arm and made to leave.

"Good," she purred over one shoulder. "I shall either return to retrieve my property later," she gave Braetan a significant look as Valen folded his arms over his chest, the sense of malevolent menace he was now exuding an almost physical presence in the room. "or scrape your remains off these walls... the choice is entirely up to you."

o0o

Watching the small group of drow turn and leave, Braetan and Cant glanced to one another before turning back to the four thralls that had been left in their capable hands.

"Ee's a big bastard," Cant commented in a low voice, unable to take his eyes off Valen, who was now standing protectively behind Jen. "Don't think crossin' 'im's goin' to be a good idea, boss..."

"He'll wake up soon enough," Braetan snorted in response. "just like all the others. By then, he'll have either forgotten what he's supposed to be doing or he won't care – not seen a thrall yet that carries out orders once they come to. No love lost between them two, I would guess."

Cant licked his cracked lips and wrung his small, clammy hands in nervous anticipation. "Still got that little elf the lizards brought in..."

"Yeah, I know, I ain't forgot," Braetan grinned evilly. "Never have got your thing for the elves, I must admit."

"Pretty little things..." cackled the apprentice slave master. "they squeal pretty, too." Turning his attention back to the four thralls, Cant scuttled over to Jen, looking rather like an over sized spider as he did so. "Do you squeal pretty too, my love?"

Suddenly, a hand shot out from over the half elf's shoulder and grasped him by the neck.

Laughing as he watched the large tiefling lift his apprentice with ease by the throat until his legs dangled helplessly beneath him, Braetan folded his arms over his barrel-like chest and shook his head, snorting in amusement. "He can smell you, Cant! Smell that ratty blood and your pathetic desperation!"

Spluttering as he frantically kicked out with his legs, Cant tried to force the demonspawn to drop him, to no avail.

"Seems like it ain't just touching that's the problem, eh?" the duergar smirked, watching Cant slowly turn purple. "Stop playing with him now and get over here."

With that, the apprentice's face began to melt.

Now able to wriggle more easily as his joints popped and bone reformed, Cant managed to twist himself free from the tiefling's hold; gasping and holding his throat as he hit the floor, the wererat didn't even stand up as he quickly shuffled backwards, away from Valen.

"Ee's crazy, that one... crazy fuckin' demon... them drow's crazy, too..." the lythancrope whined. "Damn near strangled me; not that you care, y'bastard... you just laughed..."

Before Braetan could comment, there was a roar from the depths behind them.

"Oh, for Laduguer 's sake..." the duergar hissed under his breath, rolling his eyes. "The reptilian bitch is awake again. Grak!"

From one corner lumbered a rangy looking half orc wearing nothing more than a filthy loincloth and an old yet cruel looking warhammer in one hand.

"Boss?" He spoke slowly with a slight lisp.

"The dragon's up. Go put her back to sleep."

The half orc frowned. "Dat hard. Grak get hurt last time. Grak not like dat."

"Well, if Grak wants to eat tonight, Grak will go and quieten down the fucking dragon!" Braetan snapped back, taking a threatening step forwards.

Bowing his head, Grak just nodded, lifted his warhammer and plodded off.

"Last thing I need..." the duergar glanced down at Cant, who was still rubbing his neck, eyeing the tiefling with open hatred. "Whoever brought that bitch down here to trade needs their head sorting out."

"One of the visiting 'flayers did," the wererat snivelled. "Brought 'er to win in the pits, I think."

Braetan snorted. "Wish the bastard 'flayer that owned her kept her with them. More trouble than she's worth, that one."

"I'm guessin' the 'flayers 'ere are still keepin' their current predicament quiet, like." Cant shrugged his furry shoulders. "The others ain't got no reason to think she'd wake up down 'ere. Although 'ow they keep it quiet from the others-"

"Ain't our business," the slave master interrupted sharply. "Just our business to stable the thralls. Speaking of which..." He looked up to regard the four passive forms still standing in the middle of the corridor. "Better sort this lot. Come on."

o0o

Trudging passively behind the duergar, Jen, Valen, Rizonym and Deekin followed their would be jailer into the dank depths of the slave pens, the wererat Cant bringing up the rear. Unable to help herself, Jen's eyes darted from side to side, taking in the squalid conditions and the multitude of thralls found within. Ironically, many of the slaves looked quite well kept, but even that could not disguise the haunted, hunted cast present in their eyes. The way that they huddled back towards the walls when the slave master passed also spoke of a level of awareness Jen had been led to believe shouldn't be there; vowing to herself that as soon as they were left to their own devices they would seek out these self-aware thralls and find out what was going on from them, she continued to follow the duergar, trying to ignore the unpleasant squelching sensation beneath her feet.

Slowing to a halt, the duergar gestured to an open gate with one hand in a mock gesture of servitude, a cruel smirk playing across his lips.

"Your quarters, milady; miluds."

Trying not to hesitate, Jen stepped through, followed closely by Valen, with Rizonym and Deekin in tow.

As they did so, the wererat chimed in. "I sincerely 'ope you 'ave a good stay..."

Sniggering to themselves, the two slavers closed the gate behind them with a clang and locked it up once more before striding away.

Waiting for the sound of their footsteps to fade into the distance before they dared to move, Valen was the first to look around slowly to regard the now locked gate behind them. Turning back, he touched Jen on the shoulder to indicate that all was now safe and that she could move freely again and frowned when he felt how tense she was, her eyes staring forwards. Looking up, he immediately saw what it was that caused her to freeze.

Creeping forwards, nearly a dozen thralls, all male and from an assortment of races – human, drow, duergar and half orc – fanned out around them, each with a sly, bloodthirsty smile upon their collective faces. Sensing movement behind him, Valen quickly glanced sideways; from the corner of his eye, he could see that Rizonym had stepped up and was covering their backs and simply by the tension that the scarred drow held in his well-made frame, the tiefling could tell that he was ready to fight if the need arose. Even Deekin, an individual that the Weapon Master had always only thought of as an annoyance, was crouching and emanating a low, threatening hiss in protection of his beloved boss.

Growling, Valen stepped in front of Jen, glowering dangerously at the other thralls, hoping he could make them back down without a fight with his sheer presence alone. Hearing the half elf take in a deep breath behind him, he felt the hairs upon the back of his neck prickle unexpectedly as she called to the strange energy she held deep within herself; as it surged forth, he felt his demon answer her challenge with a roar, causing him to grunt and fight it forcibly back down to its internal prison deep within his mind.

As one, the pack before them attacked. With a roar, Valen leapt forward, punching out with his fist, clipping one of their attackers – a rangy looking drow - on the chin, making the dark elf stagger backwards. Spinning, he then lashed out with his foot, this time connecting solidly with a half orc, causing him to actually spin upon his axis before dropping to the floor, blood streaming from his mouth and nose where the tiefling's boot had connected.

From his left, a human bearing a nasty looking scar across his face took advantage of the tiefling's scant recovery time and smacked him squarely on the side of the head, causing Valen to briefly see stars; hitting out blindly, the tiefling caught nothing as another two attackers leapt upon him, trying to bear him down to the ground. With a thunderous snarl, Valen tried desperately to shake off his assailants, but it was proving immensely difficult; for a split second, he wondered why Rizonym was allowing him to take such a beating as fists rained down upon his body, but it soon dawned upon him as he heaved his body up and grabbed one of the thralls by his throat before tossing him away as if he was so much rubbish that the scarred drow fighter and even Deekin were both caught up in vicious looking brawls of their own.

With a sickening jolt, the tiefling then realised that if they were all caught up in their own fights, the chances were that Jen was as well.

Throwing himself upright as he allowed his demon to surge forwards, Valen roared again as he began to throw off his assailants, ignoring the blood that was now pouring from a cut above his eye. Lashing out with a flurry of heavy blows, he ripped into each one as he turned, desperately trying to see if the half elf was still with them, and felt a flash of unexpected pride when he saw that she was indeed also engaged in combat, using her well-honed reflexes to dance rings around the human who had decided to engage her, flicking out nasty looking kicks to his head and stomach whenever she had the opportunity.

Taking advantage of his moment of inattentiveness, another one of the thralls leapt at the tiefling, but what the man did not notice, the demon was ready for; punching out sideways, the Weapon Master dealt a vicious blow to the face of the duergar who had charged him, spreading his nose over his face. Snapping his head around, Valen then punched downwards, knocking his current foe out cold. Once again feeling the swell of Jen's almost unearthly power as it finally primed uninterrupted, the tiefling tensed, preparing himself for it to affect him and their assailants equally; with an exultant shout, the half elf then released the energy, a powerful wall of force that threw their attackers backwards violently but, much to his shock, simply washed over him in an almost pleasant manner. Standing up and wiping a hand over his now bloody mouth, Valen turned to see the half elf floating about a foot off the ground, her usually soft hazel eyes now burning a deep shade of emerald green, she raised her arms above her head and wove her hands in an intricate dance; mesmerised by this display, the tiefling observed a strange, almost viscous emanation flow from the region of her heart and along her arms until it came to rest in the palms of her hand as two pulsating orbs of energy, which she in turn then hurled to the ground by her feet. Alarmed, the tiefling was unable to do anything else but watch as the energy spheres exploded into flame where they hit the floor, but once again, they did not hurt him; catching sight of Rizonym and Deekin, the tiefling saw they they both looked as equally shocked as he did by Jen's show of devastating power – and the simple fact that she now seemed to be able to exclude them from her spell effects if she so chose to.

"Take one step closer and you will die," the half elf commanded, her usual affable nature all but lost. "We did not come to fight. We came to talk. Why do you attack us?"

"Because they think that is the way to get what they want," a strong, resonant female voice called back from the gloom of the cavern.

Dropping to the floor, the flames she had conjured still licking around her legs harmlessly, Jen peered forwards. The males they had defeated were now slinking off, shooting her resentful glances.

"Who are you?" the half elf asked suspiciously.

"Who are _you_? shot back the voice.

"I asked first..."

"I am a slave; nothing more."

Now that the attacking mob had crawled away, literally dozens of other thralls now crept forwards, looking at Jen, suspicion written openly upon their faces.

"How come you aren't mindless?" a tired looking elven male asked, stepping forwards cautiously. "Usually, when new thralls turn up, they're mindless for at least a good few hours before they come to their senses."

Glancing around at her comrades, Jen shrugged her shoulders. "We're not thralls. Not in the sense you understand them, anyway. We have our own minds."

"How come the 'flayers didn't notice?" another voice asked, this time a human female.

"We're still slaves," Valen answered, giving Jen a slightly warning look. "Just not mindless ones."

"Oh." By the murmur that rippled through the attending thralls, this was obviously an answer they were not used to.

Ignoring their response, the half elf stepped forwards, leaving her protective field of flame. Furrowing his brow in consternation, the tiefling shot a hand out to grab her wrist and stop her from doing so; as he did, however, he was surprised to feel his demon recoil slightly as something almost tangible flowed from her, making his hand tingle strangely, a sensation that was simultaneously both pleasurable and painful for him. Turning her head briefly, Jen looked as surprised as he did as she glanced down at his hand before shaking it off almost angrily and continuing on.

"What's going on here?" Jen asked curiously, looking from one frightened looking thrall to another. "Why did those males attack us? Were they protecting you?"

Snorting angrily, one of the females, a pretty looking human with long blonde hair wearing an outfit similar to the one Nathyrra had lent Jen, stalked forwards. "Hardly," she sneered, casting the skulking males a poisonous look. "They've made our lives hell down here. Jacen, the human with the scar across his face, is the ring leader – he banded this lot around him pretty quickly, and they've been nothing but trouble." She regarded Jen gravely. "It's only been a couple of days, but they've been responsible for some pretty nasty beatings... and worse."

"Worse?"

The woman nodded. "Poor Amithiel hasn't been the same since."

Colour drained from Jen's face as her countenance hardened. "They raped her?"

The slave nodded. "She's not the only one, but it has affected her the worst. She's not been a slave long – the rest of us are kind of used to it, so we know how to switch off, but she doesn't..."

Swallowing down the taste of bile that flooded her mouth at that revelation, Jen glared to the corners where the collection of males had retreated. "That's despicable. Simply despicable."

The slave shrugged. "That's life."

"It doesn't have to be..."

The woman looked at Jen shrewdly for a moment, narrowing her eyes at her. "You're not really a slave, are you? No point denying it – your innocence speaks volumes. Who are you?"

For a split second, the half elf glanced around at her companions, looking supremely uncomfortable.

"We're... here to help."

"Help?" the slave quipped, clearly not believing the half elf at all. "Really."

"Hopefully... yes." Jen held out a hand, which the woman took, shaking it gingerly. "My name's Jen."

"Milla."

At their introduction, the elven male stepped forward and inclined his head towards Jen. "I am Maenaran."

"Honoured," Jen replied, inclining her head towards him in return.

"You say you are here to help? How?" the elf enquired.

"None of your business," Valen butted in, roughly shoving Maenaran aside as he stepped in between Jen and Milla. "You're saying far too much," he hissed to the half elf. "We've barely been down here for half an hour and already you've given the game away!"

Taking the tiefling firmly by one arm, Jen tried to shove him aside with all her strength. "I said that if there was anyone down here with their mind intact that I would help them, and I meant it, Valen!" she whispered furiously back. "Stop being difficult!"

"Difficult?" the Weapon Master shot back incredulously. "You don't know these people! They could be spies..."

"Spies?" Jen scoffed. "They're _slaves_, Valen!"

"You know, each time I think you've finally worked it out, you just have to go and say something utterly stupid, don't you?" Valen rolled his eyes in barely veiled contempt. "This is the Underdark, Jenalil. No one trusts _anyone_!"

"Uh, we can hear you, you know..." Milla broke in. "Valen, isn't it?"

Turning around, the tiefling scowled at the slave.

"Yeah, I thought so," she continued, completely unfazed by his hostility. "We're not going to betray you if you think you can get us out of here – even Jacen and his lot, as despicable as they are, wouldn't betray you if it meant their freedom."

"See," Jen added, obviously stung by his earlier comment regarding her judgemental skills. "Sometimes, things are the way they look."

"Not in my experience," Valen replied through gritted teeth.

Deciding to ignore the Weapon Master, Jen sidestepped him so she could speak to Milla and Maenaran directly once again. "Please feel free to ignore him – you get used to his negativity after a while..."

Snorting furiously, Valen glowered down at Jen, fighting down a rather disturbing urge to knock some much needed sense into her. "Negativity? It's my 'negativity' that keeps us safe, might I remind you..."

"Hmmm. Yes. Like the negativity that caused you to go running off after a drow battalion on your own, only to find out that you were wrong about it before running back here?"

At this rather low blow, the tiefling threw his hands up angrily in the air and stalked away. "Fine. Do what you want. Just don't bother me."

Rolling her eyes, Jen sighed. "Valen... I didn't mean... I'm sor-"

"Forget it!"

Turning back to Milla, Jen gave the human slave a long suffering look of someone who was now becoming used to such outbursts, causing Milla to offer a sympathetic yet cynical smile in return. "Does that often, does he?"

"All the bloody time..." Jen sighed again. "I'll deal with him in a bit. First off – why didn't Braetan and the wererat come running here when they heard the fight?"

It was Maenaran that answered. "They don't care," he replied simply. "The only one they worry about is Ixenthraxis. She scares them."

"Ixenthraxis? Who is that?"

Both Maenaran and Milla smiled at this question. "She's the one who has kept our hopes up over the last few weeks... best if you just met her, really."

"Okay... sure." Jen then gave them a rueful look. "But in a moment. I'd better go and try to smooth things over with him first." The half elf jerked a thumb in the direction of Valen, who was now standing some way off to the right with his arms folded over his chest, scowling her way. "In the mean time; that is Rizonym and that is Deekin." She gestured to each of her remaining companions in turn. "I'll be back in a moment..."

o0o

Folding her arms over her chest in an unconscious mirror of the tiefling's own body language, Jen slowly approached Valen. On one hand, she regretted what she had said to him, but on the other, she knew deep down that it was something that she had been wanting to say to him all day – something that she had been wanting to get off her chest once and for all since he had returned. As she moved closer, the irascible Weapon Master regarded her moodily, his tail flicking from side to side, further enhancing her desire to settle the score by making him feel as hurt as she still inexplicably did regarding his departure; with a sigh, however, she resigned herself to the fact that employing such a tactic against one such as Valen was essentially futile, and so decided that it would be simpler all round if she took the easier route.

"Valen..."

Looking away from her, the tiefling said nothing.

"Valen..." Jen tried again, bristling slightly that he was so obviously ignoring her.

This time, he snapped his head around to face her. "What?"

"I shouldn't have said what I did just now... I'm sorry."

For a long while, the Weapon Master said nothing.

"Oh, forget it..." the half elf finally sighed irritably at his silence, a sense of acute bitterness towards his stubborn nature welling up within her as she made to turn away and leave.

"Don't say that."

Unsure as to whether she had heard him correctly, Jen turned back, an incredulous look upon her face. "What did you say?"

"I said 'don't say that'" Valen replied quietly, seeking her eyes with his. "Don't apologise."

At this, the half elf's anger ebbed away, only to be replaced by bemused bewilderment.

"Uh, what?"

"You don't have to apologise." He took a step closer to her. "I deserved it."

Now feeling slightly ashamed of her previous desire to hurt him, Jen shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "No you didn't. It was a low blow, meant to hurt you. I... I shouldn't have said it. It was wrong of me."

Much to her surprise, Valen chuckled to himself. "After all the awful things I've said to you in the past and never apologised for... you go and apologise for telling the truth." Unfolding his arms, the tiefling raised a hesitant hand and lightly cupped Jen's chin. "You never need to say sorry for that."

Feeling his roughened, calloused fingers gently caress her skin, the half elf felt a slight rush of heat creep up her neck and touch her cheeks; seeing this flush, the tiefling gave her a small but genuine smile that softened his entire countenance, making him somehow appear more human than he ever had done before.

"I still... I... I...still shouldn't have said it in front of Milla and Maenaran..." Jen whispered, trying to ignore the slight quivery sensation that had now blossomed within her breast.

Looking amused, Valen inclined his head. "True... but you could argue that I started it all by leaving in the first place." He then dropped his hand and ran it over his rough, bristled chin. "I meant what I said yesterday, Jen: I'm sorry."

Nodding, Jen looked to the floor. "I know. Nathyrra... Nathyrra told me what happened."

"She did?" At this revelation, the tiefling looked away for a second.

"Yes. I guess I should thank you for that, too-"

"No – you don't have to do that," he interrupted shaking his head. "I only did what I had to – what any of us would have done."

"Be as that may... you were the one that did so. And for that, I am grateful." Offering him a smile, Jen gave a little shrug. "Maybe that means we're even now..."

Chuckling again, Valen raised his eyebrows at her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe... Maybe a clean slate is in order?"

Nodding thoughtfully as to the implications of his suggestion, the half elf smiled. "Maybe you're right." she then glanced over to where Rizonym, Deekin and the assembled slaves were now watching the both of them with acute interest; feeling her cheeks burn up suddenly, she glanced quickly back to Valen and saw that, much to her total surprise, his were too. "Although maybe we should just get back to what we are supposed to be doing first and discuss this later..."

Nodding emphatically, the tiefling could only agree with her.

"Just... one more thing," he asked, catching her by the shoulder just as she began to move off. "Am I... am I really that negative?"

Pausing for a moment, Jen nodded and smiled ruefully. "'Fraid so. Am I really that stupid?"

Returning her rueful look, Valen also nodded. "Yes... sorry, but sometimes you can be. Although I suppose others might call it naivete."

"Oh." the half elf offered the tiefling a complicated facial shrug. "Never mind, eh? We've all got our faults."

Grinning Valen, shook his head in bemusement. "That we have, Jen... that we have. I suppose the main challenge is being able to accept them and live as well as we possibly can"

Grinning back at him, Jen quirked an amused eyebrow. "That's pretty deep for the likes of you, isn't it?"

"Watch your mouth, woman," the tiefling growled, the equally amused twinkle in his eyes directly contradicting his seemingly harsh words. "There's more to the likes of me that you could ever imagine."

"Oh? Really?" Jen responded mischievously. "What if I have a very broad imagination?"

"Even with that," Valen shot back, an unexpectedly rakish smile now gracing his features. "Even with that..."


	24. Ixenthraxsis

Chapter 24 – Ixenthraxsis

"You have done the right thing, Nathyrra."

Wincing a little when she heard Xen'shai's words, Nathyrra glanced back over her shoulder to where their four pretend slaves were standing, stoically enduring an inspection by the execrable slave master and his equally reprehensible apprentice and momentarily hung her head dejectedly.

"I don't know – this feels wrong..."

"Do not worry," the Deathsinger said reassuringly. "Rizonym and the Errdegah-chath will not allow any harm to come to her or that irritating kobold of hers."

"It is only for one night," Jehk'ril added, mirroring his half brother's sentiments exactly. "Let us concentrate on finding out what we can from the other slavers for the time being. I am sure everything will be fine."

To this, the assassin nodded miserably and began to climb the steps once more, trying to conjure up her former air of contrived arrogance, but knowing deep down that her heart truly wasn't in it.

Behind her back, the two brothers shared a small but decidedly wicked smirk.

Walking along the corridor that connected the slave pens to the main bar, Nathyrra shook her hair from her face, lifted her chin and tried to think superior thoughts.

Entering the bar area once again, she was greeted immediately by a grinning Ilfra, who all but forced a cheap-looking glass in her hand, full to the brim with a deep red claret and then gestured to the stool next to her, clearly inviting the assassin to sit with her.

"All sorted?"

Nathyrra nodded. "Yes."

The duergar nodded, a satisfied smile upon her face. "Feels better to off load 'em, don't it? Even though they're here to make life easier, sometimes it still feels like work just havin' them around..."

Taking a sip of wine to disguise the acute twinge of guilt she felt at those words, the former Red Sister just nodded, before she grimaced and held the glass up to the meagre light.

"What is this?" she asked, grimacing slightly. "Tastes like it was matured in an old tin."

Ilfra laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Probably was, lass, probably was... still, it's better than a parched throat and a kick in the teeth." She then gestured to the four males who were now standing near them. "Gonna introduce me to your lads?"

"Xen'shai, Jehk'ril, Szinaufein, Tsabandiir," she gestured to each drow as she said their name "meet Ilfra."

The duergar grinned broadly, looking each one up and down appreciatively. "Pleased ta meet you all, too." She then narrowed eyes her and pursed her lips at Xen'shai. "Elves don't normally do it fer me, but by Laduguer, I could be convinced..."

Taking another sip of wine, this time to smother a grin. Nathyrra raised her eyebrows as the Deathsinger offered Ilfra a gracious nod and a strained smile.

"Don't say much do they, your boys?" the duergar chuckled jovially. "There again, your lot have it right – I suppose they don't speak until you command it, being their Mistress?"

"Of course. A male must know his place, otherwise where would we be?" the assassin replied haughtily, giving all four males a disdainful look.

To this, Ilfra raised her tankard. "See that, lads? That's a way a female _should_ be treated!"

"Ahhh, y'talk some bollocks, Ilfra; given 'arf a chance we'd have ye worshippin' at the alter o' the one-eyed snake mornin', noon and night!" grinned one of the three duergar males that made up Ilfra's slaver party bawdily whilst the other two chuckled into their tankards.

"Pshaw, off wit' ye!" the duergar slave mistress blustered back, smiling broadly. "If any of y'had anything worth shoutin' about, maybe..."she then held up her little finger and wiggled it provocatively, making the other two duergar roar with laughter at the now ruefully emasculated expression Ilfra's taunter wore, whilst Nathyrra glanced towards the drow males, the grin that was now plastered across her face more of a horrified rictus. "Now, yon male squeakie there... I'm sure ee's got something that keeps the ladies purrin', ain't ye?" Ilfra waggled her grey eyebrows at Xen'shai, who probably for the first time in his life found himself almost lost for words.

"Never had any complaints, mistress," he answered eventually, trying to contrive his features into his habitual sly smile rather than a grimace of disgust, all the while trying to ignore the evilly delighted grin that his half brother was now treating him to.

Ilfra leant forwards and gestured towards the drow bard a little shakily with her tankard. "I'm sure you ain't! Although I'd be afraid o' snappin' y'in half, I must admit... put on a few pounds and maybe we'll talk."

Taking another long swallow of her drink to try to quell the sudden urge to laugh out loud through the sheer absurdity of their situation, Nathyrra actually began to wonder if it was she that had drawn the short straw in all of this, and not Jen as she had originally suspected.

"So, tell me more of Zorvak'Mur," the assassin asked, hoping to deflect the attention of the leering duergar from the now twitching Deathsinger. "I have heard the stock is good here."

"Stock's fine here," the duergar nodded, topping up Nathyrra's drink from the bottle the golem had left by her elbow. "Good selection o' surfacers as well as underdwellers. Tends to specialise more for pitfighters than pleasure slaves... but that ain't always a bad thing. Y'can make a fair ole amount o'coin if ye've got a good fighter."

"Interesting," Nathyra nodded. "Looks like we might be in luck, then."

"Well, if yer willing to trade the big redhead..."

The assassin shook her head. "My prize fighter? You have to be joking!"

Ilfra grinned. "Thought ye'd say that. Ee looks a mean bastard. How'd you get 'im at yer beck?"

"Summoned fresh from the Blood Wars," Nathyrra answered, contriving to look proud of herself. "He has no choice but to obey."

At this, the lusty duergar waggled her eyebrows again. "No choice, eh? Bet it's not just fightin' ee's got no choice over, either..."

"I do not consort with thralls," the assassin replied coldly, tilting her chin in a haughty fashion. "And I do not like your insinuation, hargluk ."

"Ahh, I meant no harm," Ilfra replied good naturedly. "Loosen up, lass!"

Glowering slightly over the top of her glass, Nathyrra raised an eyebrow and took a pointed sip. "Why don't the illithid come in here?"

"What? It's like I said – they can't. I'm sure they'd love to come in 'ere and crack a few skulls, but that bugger won't let 'em." Ilfra jerked a thumb at the golem. "This place's been 'ere longer'n the city, s'far as I know. Some wizard lived 'ere – liked workin' with the 'flayers, but didn't like 'em comin' into 'is tower, so 'ee made it so they couldn't."

"And the illithid put up with this?"

"Well, it's a big draw, innit? Reason there's a good market 'ere. Peoples come from all over the buggerin' place to be able to trade in a place where they get good thralls and don't 'ave to worry about their own 'eads." She took a deep draught from her tankard. "They might not like it... but it makes good business sense, and if there's one thing a 'flayer likes, it's good business."

Nathyrra licked her lips. "And is it business that has forged the alliance between the illithid and this Valsharess character?"

She phrased the question lightly, but couldn't help notice how all of her comrades surreptitiously glanced her way a little apprehensively as she did so before they each outwardly devoted their attention once again to their own murmured conversations.

"Naa," Ilfra shook her head before leaning over to the drow assassin in a conspiratorial manner. "No one knows fer sure why the 'flayers have allied themselves to 'er... but the word around the camp fire is that there's a problem with their Elder Brain." She gave Nathyrra a significant look. " A _big_ problem."

"What kind of a problem are we talking about here?" Nathyrra asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Well, I'm not one for gossip... but there's a twitter of a ripple of a rumour that it's not doin' its job prop'ly, like."

"Job properly?"

"That some'ow – and don't ask me 'ow – it's been... incapacitated."

"Incapacitated?"

"That's what I said."

"How?"

Ilfra shrugged her impressive shoulders. "Like I said, I dunno. No one knows fer sure. But them 'flayers allyin' themselves with that Valsharess... you ever heard o' such a thing before? Drow and 'flayers working together like that? 'Cos I know I ain't."

"The drow sometimes trade with the illithid-"

"Oh, trade, yeah," the duergar interrupted. "They trade fer sure. But an alliance between two factions what normally fight like cats inna sack for supremacy? It don't sit right with me, lass, and I'll tell y'that for free."

Giving the slaver a thoughtful look, Nathyrra nodded thoughtfully. "When you put it like that, I suppose it doesn't make much sense. Any other clues as to the, ah, current situation?"

"Well," Ilfra leaned forwards again. "the thralls that're stabled below – they ain't stayin' thralls for long. They're wakin' up."

"But thralls do that anyway once they're away from their masters... unless you collar them, of course."

"Yeah, but it used to take a while, 'specially in a 'flayer city. They couldn't control your thralls, but the Elder Brain made sure they all stayed under whilst they was stabled. Now, that's all changed. Thralls wakin' up left, right an' centre. Braetan's 'ad 'is grubby mitts full last couple o' months and no mistake. Now some bugger's brought it some bastard 'arf dragon..." she rolled her eyes before rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I been thinkin' of goin' back over to collars meself. Seems to be more reliable." She gave Nathyrra another significant look. "You might wanna, too, given that big demon lad you haul around wit' ye. As much as I'd like to see 'im in action, I wouldn't want to see it at your expense, if y'take me meanin'"

Raising an arrogant eyebrow, Nathyrra snorted. "There will be no need for that; he's bound to me by other means. That's the joy of dealing with planars; they simply have no choice but to obey you."

"Really..." llfra raised her eyebrows. "Mebbe it's time I started dealin' in planars rather than surfacers, in that case!"

Making a show of smiling into her drink, Nathyrra took a long swallow, using the diversion to order through what the duergar was telling her; her introspection, however, was broken by a sense of movement to her right.

"Jabbress... we wish to retire," Xen'shai said slowly, bowing his head obsequiously at her. "Does this suit your pleasure?"

Giving the Deathsinger a long look, the assassin finally nodded. "Yes; you may go. Sort out your rooms with the golem."

"Assanque, Jabbress," bowing his head once more, the bard shared a few words with their granite barkeep and then left with Jehk'ril and Tsabandiir in tow.

Szinaufein, however, elected to stay behind.

Nathyrra gave him a quizzical look, but the ranger just sat up straight and smiled nervously.

"Do you not wish to rest with the others?" she asked eventually, trying to sound haughty.

"Nau, Jabbress... I am not tired. You should not be left without assistance, should you need it."

"Well... ee's a dutiful little laddie, ain't 'ee?" Ilfra grinned at Szinaufein. "Kind o' cute, too." She looked wistfully at the retreating form of the Deathsinger. "Not in the league o' that one there, o'course – ee's got a twinkle in 'is eye that tells you 'ee knows a few tricks that'd make a succubus blush..."

Exchanging a rather horrified look, Nathyrra had to smother a smirk when Szinaufein mouthed the words 'shall I tell her which one his room is?' and gave her a decidedly wicked smile, which was followed closely by a small, amused pout when she shook her head.

"Ahh well..." the duergar sighed jovially and peered into her tankard. "I'm dry! That ain't right... come on, I'll get another bottle in and you and yer pretty lad can tell me what y've all been up to, eh?"

o0o

Leaving the bar area, the three drow males made their way to the stairs that led to the rooms above silently; Jehk'ril with a smirk, Tsabandiir sulkily and Xen'shai with a look like thunder upon his face. Finding their rooms, they quickly dropped their packs and then met together in Tsabandiir's room, Jehk'ril needling his half brother with regards to the duergar's treatment of him with a distinct air of relish about him whilst the Darkmask cleric unpacked the accoutrements he needed to initiate his nightly prayers to the Masked Lord, all the while glowering at the bickering siblings, despairing of their uncouth and unbecoming behaviour.

"What is to be done next?" the cleric began, his breathy voice managing to sound commanding nonetheless, causing the other two males to settle.

"We just continue," Xen'shai replied, his irritation at his half brother still plain. "I am working upon her heart; the rest of you just need to remain seemingly loyal."

"She sympathises with our 'plight'," Jehk'ril added. "Slowly yet surely, she comes to our side."

Tsabandiir snorted. "I still do not understand why all this is needed. She is but a surfacer – why the interest?"

At this, Xen'shai gave the Darkmask a long, cool look. "As I said to you before, all will become clear. If the Masked Lord wishes you to know, He will inform you. That alone should be enough."

"And for these half reasons you give me, one of our own must tolerate the dank depths of the dungeon below?"

"Rizonym knows his place is all this," Xen'shai shot back, obviously irritated at not only his half brothers teasing, but also at Tsabandiir's constant questioning of his orders. "Which is more than I can say for you right now."

In complete contrast to his sibling's severity, Jehk'ril grinned. "Rizonym will be back with you soon enough; stop thinking with your cock, Tsabandiir."

"And_he_ isn't?!" he Darkmask spat, baring his teeth at the Deathsinger. "We all know his... predilections – he fawns over the surfacer female like she was the last female on all Toril!"

"And again you only display your ignorance!" Xen'shai hissed back, now thoroughly fed up with the obstinate cleric. "Do you think I would play at this delicate game of seduction if it wasn't for a good reason? She is a surfacer female, for Shadow's sake! Throw them a smile and a compliment and they're on their backs, ready for action before you can unlace your breeches!"

"Then why all the effort!" Tsabandiir exploded back. "Why must we all creep around her like she is some kind of rare and precious flower?"

"Because she has to _love_me, you fool!" the Deathsinger retorted back through gritted teeth. "She has to desire me, want to be with me – I must become the centre of her universe, otherwise this will all be for naught!" Xen'shai then ran a frustrated hand through his thick, silvery hair. "She holds something that the Masked Lord dearly wants; something she doesn't even know she possesses, and must not find out about until she is firmly upon our side. And since a way to a woman's undying devotion is through her heart rather than her mind, she must become the queen of my world. The Masked Lord has willed this, and as his faithful servant, _I obey_." He punctuated his last sentence with a jabbing forefinger. "Jehk'ril understands this, as do Rizonym and Szinaufein – the only one who seems to have a problem with this is _you_, Tsabandiir!"

Glaring angrily at the wall, the Darkmask didn't say anything for a long time.

"I know it is hard to be kept in the dark this way... but if that is what our Lord wills, that is what our Lord gets," Jehk'ril said eventually with a sigh. "Xen'shai is merely doing His bidding."

"Do not dare lecture me about undertaking our Lord's Work," Tsabandiir hissed, still obviously furious. "I have been a faithful servant of his longer than the span of both your lives added together. I have flouted the laws of the Matrons, opposed the will of Lolth before She disappeared and endured the torture of the Spider Queen's clergy for centuries before you were even born; you are but children in the eyes of the Masked Lord compared to me! And yet you expect me to believe he favours you? A lowly Deathsinger?"

Standing up, Xen'shai lifted his head imperiously, his emerald eyes flashing in barely veiled fury. "If you do not believe me, then ask! You are one of his Darkmasks – ask the Shadow; seek his opinion! If you will not take it from me, then take it from Him!"

Breathing heavily, Tsabandiir leapt to his feet, accidently clipping a bowlful of incense with one foot as he did so, sending the bowl and it's fragrant contents skipping across the floor with a clang.

"The Word of the Shadow is the only reason I am here, Elghinnsunduiri! Do not doubt my loyalty to him!"

"Then act in a way that does not make me doubt you, Olathorbdrin!"

Unclenching his fists, Tsabandiir gave Xen'shai one last, hateful look before dropping his head. "As much as it pains me... as much as I wonder why... you have our Lord's favour, and if I question you, I am in effect questioning Him; something He does not tolerate." He sighed angrily. "I will abase myself in the service of this... surfacer because it is my Lord's will and just hope that through my service, He will deign me worthy of His trust once more and tell me of His plans."

Nodding curtly, the Deathsinger gestured to his half brother that they should leave. "I know it pains you, faithful Olathorbdrin... but just be pleased that you are not placed with my Burden." He then gave the Darkmask a significant look. "For me, it is a pleasure - for you, however..."

"Leave me."

Inclining his head to the now almost dejected looking cleric, Xen'shai opened the door to allow Jehk'ril through before following him.

"Assanque, Olathorbdrin. Sleep well."

o0o

Making their way through the dank confines of the slave pens, Jen drew her arms about herself and shivered. After the constant temperature of the Underdark – not to mention the good covering of warm leather she was far more used to wearing – the damp dungeon that they now found themselves in was finally getting to her.

"You all right?"

Glancing back, Jen nodded to Valen's murmured question before continuing to follow Milla and Maenaran.

"You're sure?"

Smiling, Jen nodded again. "I'm fine."

"Well; we're here..." Milla then turned around and gestured to an ancient black door, encrusted with the filth of many centuries, that bore a huge, green-tinged padlock and shot with massive black bolts. "Ixenthraxsis?" she called softly, almost as if she was afraid of raising her voice.

"Yes?" answered a voice from the blackness beyond the door.

Upon hearing this, Jen took a step backwards. "You were the one that answered me before, weren't you?"

There was a rumble from behind the door.

"Jen..." Valen whispered.

Scowling a little at being interrupted, the half elf continued. "Were you the one that answered me?"

"Jen..." Valen whispered again, a hint of urgency to his tone this time.

"In a minute!" she hissed back before focusing her attention back to the door, waiting for a response.

"Are you the one who fought Jacen and his cronies?" The voice that answered was deep – far deeper than any woman's voice Jen had ever heard before - but held a richness and a timbre that gave the half elf no doubt it's owner was indeed female. "The one who claims to want to help us?"

"Yes," Jen answered steadily. "That was me. Or should I say, us."

"Jen!" Valen whispered one last time.

"What!" the half elf hissed back through gritted teeth. "Can't this wait?"

Dipping his head, the tiefling brought his lips as close to Jen's pointed ear as he dared. "That feeling... it's coming from behind the door," he breathed.

Nodding slowly, Jen glanced sideways to regard the Weapon Master out of the corner of one eye. "I know," she murmured in response.

"Why would you want to do this?" There was a hint of challenge to the voice now.

"Because... because it is the right thing to do."

"A diplomatic answer," the voice returned. "But not a wholly truthful one. There is more to this – I can sense it."

"Tell us about it..." the tiefling muttered, folding his arms over his chest defensively.

"Why are you locked in there?"

"They fear me."

"Who fears you?"

"The duergar and the wererat."

Glancing up once again to the tall, dangerous tiefling standing behind her, Jen swallowed hard.

_She must really be something if they fear her enough to lock her up and leave Valen wandering around..._

"No one here can crack the lock," Maenaran added. "We've tried."

The tiefling shifted his weight behind her. "Can you do it?"

"What makes you think I can break a lock?" Jen replied incredulously.

"Well, you're a rogue-"

"A_scout_, Valen – I'm a _scout._ I've never broken into anything in my life. I wouldn't even know where to start..."

"There is a key in here."

The half elf looked suspiciously at the door.

"What did you say?"

"I said 'there is a key in here'. They sent the poor half orc to try to deal with me again, and in order to get it, he has a key. He must have locked the door after entering."

"So... why don't you use the key to let yourself out?" Valen eventually asked, whilst Jen nodded.

"Because I am chained to the wall. I cannot reach the door."

"Oh." The tiefling shrugged. "Well, I'm all out of ideas... shame I don't have Devil's Bane to hand."

"Ixenthraxsis... where is the key?" Jen asked, looking thoughtfully at Deekin, who peered up at her hopefully.

"It is on the floor, just by the door. Just out of my reach."

"Okay... hang on, I have no idea if this is going to work, but I think I might have an idea."

With that, the half elf crouched down in front of the kobold.

"You've got Mage Hand as one of your spells, haven't you?"

"Yes, Boss," Deekin replied, nodding earnestly.

"There's a little window in the door – if I lifted you up and you looked through, do you think you could lift the key to us?"

Looking thoughtful, the little kobold offered a complicated facial shrug. "Deekin sees no reason why not... worth a try, Deekin thinks." He then leant forwards. "But Deekin thinks he should warn boss that he can smell dragon on other side of the door..."

"Well, she said she's chained to the wall... that and Valen and Rizonym won't let anything happen to us." Jen glanced up at the people surrounding her. "And the slaves seem to regard her highly. We'll just have to risk it."

With that, she lifted the kobold and struggled to hold him up to the window.

"Here.. hang on – give him to me..." Stepping up behind her, Valen took Deekin from the half elf, aware that she could barely lift him, let alone hold him up for any length of time and hoisted him up to the gap in the door with ease. "Go on, kobold; retrieve us that key."

Now feeling more than a little bit nervous at being held in such a way by the tiefling, Deekin nodded. "Okay..."

Concentrating, he began to mutter arcane syllables in his rasping voice and make strange gestures with his fingers; completing the spell, he then stretched one hand through the makeshift window cut into the door and concentrated hard upon the shadowy glimpse of what he hoped was the key they wanted.

Hearing a clink as the key moved, Deekin concentrated fiercely until it was floating a few feet off the ground. He then began to reel it in carefully, rather like as if he was trying to land a particularly tricky fish; feeling the cold metal bump against his fingertips, he then grasped it and smiled.

"Boss! Deekin's got key for you!"

Smiling broadly, Jen praised the kobold profusely as Valen set him on the ground; the tiefling then looked a trifle bemused when the half elf crouched again and wrapped her arms around Deekin's neck in an impromptu embrace. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced over to Rizonym, who just shrugged his shoulders at him by way of a response.

Straightening up with the key in hand, Jen stepped up to the door once again. "Ixenthraxsis! I've got the key – I'm going to open the door now."

Hearing a grunt of assent, the half elf took a deep breath, placed the key in the lock and turned it.

The lock clicked open easily; for all the decrepitude around, it was nevertheless well maintained, and after wrenching back the thick, black bolts that further secured the door, Jen pulled it open.

In the depths of the gloom, something moved.

Peering into the darkness, the rogue took a step forwards, only for Valen to push past her and glower at the figure leaning against the back wall.

"You may call your wolf off," Ixenthraxsis rumbled, her tone amused. "I will not hurt you."

She then stood up and stepped forward out of the shadowy depths of the cell.

What they saw made even the tiefling gasp in surprise and awe.

Bronze coloured scales shone in the meagre light, whilst a pair of green-gold wings stretched as far as they could in their chained state. Craning her head up, the half elf could see that Ixenthraxsis towered over them all, taller than even the tiefling, her golden hair cascading in shimmering tendrils over one well-muscled, scale covered shoulder. Briefly closing her bright, copper coloured eyes, the half dragon inclined her noble head towards Jen and Valen, exhibiting a pair of silver horns; unlike the tiefling's goat-like protrusions, however, these were straight and swept over the back of her reptilian skull gracefully.

The effect should have been terrifying, but Jen had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

"You're... you're a half dragon..." she breathed, rooted to the spot.

Ixenthraxsis nodded slowly. "Yes. I am. I am also a paladin."

Looking lost for words, Valen shook his head. "A half dragon paladin. Now that's something you don't see everyday."

Smiling briefly, the half dragon regarded the Weapon Master curiously. "A pure-hearted demon spawn. Now that's something you don't see everyday." She then looked beseechingly at Jen, holding her chained wrists up in front of her. "You have opened my prison, but I am yet to be freed... the half orc should have the keys."

Nodding, the half elf looked to the floor and located the slumped form of the unfortunate Grak. "Is he dead?"

"No," Ixenthraxsis shook her head. "Merely knocked out. I pity him; I could not kill him. Stupidity does not necessarily make you evil, after all."

Locating the half orc's belt, Jen carefully unbuckled it with a slight grimace upon her face before sliding a large bunch of keys free. "He's not evil?"

"No... just not very bright, immensely strong and far too willing to follow orders from people who sound like they know what they're talking about. A dangerous combination in the wrong hands indeed."

"Indeed," the half elf agreed, sorting through the keys, trying to find the correct ones to open the manacles that encircled Ixenthraxsis' wrists and ankles, chaining her to the wall.

Luckily, it didn't take too long to free the half dragon from her bondage; stepping out from her prison, Ixenthraxsis then stretched, bringing herself to her full height, dwarfing all those around her. Trying to flutter her wings, she shook her head with a rueful, weary smile when she felt the familiar pressure of the enchanted chains that kept her from flight; noticing Jen looking through the bunch of keys, obviously seeking the one that would unlock her wings, the half dragon snorted softly.

"You will not find what you are looking for there, half elf. These chains were put on me by my masters, not by the duergar and his rat."

Jen shook her head. "How... how did a half dragon – and a paladin, to boot – end up as a thrall? I don't understand..."

Hanging her head, the half dragon sighed deeply. "It is a long story, and one I am not particularly proud of. But it is a long tale, so I suggest I tell it later, when we know our next course of action." She then regarded Jen through narrowed eyes. "Although first, I wish to know your name, why you are here... and why you say you can help these people."

o0o

Leaving the room, the two brothers closed the door behind them and shared the same, almost apprehensive look. Tsabandiir was getting more and more difficult to deal with as the days went by, and if it wasn't for his dogged dedication to the Masked Lord, Xen'shai knew that he would seriously be considering an assassination as a way of dealing with him under any other circumstances.

"What are we going to do?" Jehk'ril asked wearily.

The Deathsinger ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "I don't know."

Glancing back towards the door, both the mage and the bard beagn to make their way down the corridor to their respective rooms.

Coming to a halt outside his door, Jehk'ril paused. "He does have a point, though."

"What?" Xen'shai stopped and looked at his brother as if he'd been slapped.

"I'm not saying I agree with him... but all of this is on your word." The mage chose his words carefully, not wishing to anger the Deathsinger further. "My dear brother... I know better than anyone of your... interest in pretty little surfacer females, and so far, this just looks like one big conquest – a game to satisfy your lust for pale flesh."

"Need I remind you that the fact that Jenalil is a marginally attractive half elf is irrelevant in this case? Even if she were a hulking great half orc, the Masked Lord would have wanted me to seduce her in this manner," Xen'shai replied, his irritation plain. "I wish I could tell you exactly what it is that all this pertains to. But I can't."

Shaking his head, Jehk'ril smiled ruefully at his older brother. "I know. You've told me before." He then sighed. "Is there anything else you wish of me before I retire?"

"Keep an eye on Tsabandiir. I am going to take advantage of the fact that Nathyrra is being distracted by Szinaufein, and that nuisance of a tiefling is locked up below."

Smiling knowingly, Jehk'ril rolled his eyes in mock incredulity. "You find her 'marginally attractive' indeed..."

Smirking, Xen'shai pushed the door to his room open. "A room, a bed... and a 'slave' who can't refuse to join me? I may not get another chance like this, dalninuk..."


	25. From Grace She Will Fall

_I love half term... and so does the muse, by the looks of it!_

_Slight warning for adult content... I know this might not be that popular, but it is something that has to happen – you'll see why (if you can't already guess, of course!) as time goes by!_

_And yes: I stole a euphemism from Erik the Viking. Heheheee!_

Chapter 25 – From Grace She Will Fall

Making themselves comfortable upon the makeshift benches that were scattered around the edges of the pens, Jen relayed as much of their current mission as she dared to a largely captive audience. She left out their ultimate mission and any mention of her role as the supposed prophetical defeater of the Valsharess, but she did admit to them that she was not a slave and was rather someone who wanted to find out the reasons as to why the illithid were allying themselves with the drow and stop them in the name of the rebels fighting against the domination of the Valsharess. At this, many of the slaves looked thoughtfully at one another and nodded; most of them had heard of the Valsharess, and the drow that were present were only too happy to fill the gaps in the half elf's knowledge regarding her rise to power.

What did surprise Jen was that one of the main factors in the rise of the drow who would call herself queen was the seeming disappearance of the drow goddess, Lolth. Applying what little previous knowledge she had regarding the Spider Queen, it seemed unlikely that such a deity would have gone down without a fight; that no one knew exactly what had happened to her felt strange to the half elf, for she was sure that if it had been against her will, the Realms would have rung with her displeasure. She also spent a moment wondering why the Seer had decided to keep that little titbit of information from her, she quickly made up her mind to ask Nathyrra what she knew about the whole situation when she got the chance; satisfied at this, Jen then turned her attention to the half dragon sitting across from her.

Noticing her interest, Ixenthraxsis bowed her head to her. "You have been... truthful with us, on the whole; I understand that there are aspects to any quest such as yours that cannot be made plain, and in telling us what you have, you display great trust and an even greater desire to remain true to – and indeed, succeed in - your noble plans. For that I thank you."

At the paladin's words, Jen couldn't help but sneak a glance at Valen; the tiefling was sitting cross-legged next to her upon the bench, inspecting his hands, looking, if anything, a trifle sheepish.

"But now I must ask you a question I have already voiced more than once," the half dragon continued. "You said you have come to help... how do you propose to do that?"

Fiddling with the end of her braid for a moment, Jen finally shrugged her shoulders. "To be honest... I don't really know," she answered with a defeated sigh. "We've come to break the alliance – and I want to be able to help free as many people here as I can, of course – but this place is so alien... the illithid are so different... I don't even know where to begin." She glanced at her comrades again, hoping that one of them would take over, but they all just continued to sit silently. "Our companions who are disguised as slavers right now are trying to gather information," she continued "so I suppose we might have something tomorrow, but until then-"

"You've got nothin'" Jacen spat at her, stepping out of the shadows.

"Nothing so far," Jen replied steadily, fighting down the a feeling of intense disgust at the sight of the scarred rapist.

"Nothin' is still nothin'."

"Who said you'd be included in any plans anyway?" Valen all of a sudden growled from Jen's left. "As far as I am concerned, I am more than happy for you to remain here."

"Yeah, well, that ain't gonna happen. If you lot get out, we get out." He gestured to the ragtag group of males behind him.

"Not if I say differently," the tiefling rumbled, standing up. "I have no time for those who prey on the weak and derive their pleasure from the violation of others-"

"You talk big, demonspawn. But don't forget; we nearly handed your arse to you on a plate earlier. If it wasn't for your pretty little whore there-"

Feeling a startlingly familiar rush of heat that accompanied the very physical tightening of the Weapon Master's posture, Jen quickly laid a placating hand upon Valen's shoulder to stop him from leaping bodily at the barbarian.

Breathing heavily, the tiefling snarled wordlessly as he tried to wrestle the demon back into submission; feeling a warm, light hand upon his shoulder, however, he almost yelped in surprise and turned to regard Jen warily as he felt the demon shrink back from her touch.

"He's not worth it," she murmured soothingly. "He's trying to rile you."

Now feeling a little shaky, Valen nodded to her and slowly sat back down, still glowering dangerously at Jacen; his attention, however, was now fully occupied as Ixenthraxsis stood up and strode over to him.

Clutching the barbarian by the collar, the paladin lifted Jacen easily and brought him to her strangely reptilian face. "If you come with us, it will be at my discretion; although I abhor the practice of execution, believe me when I say I am not above it. Threaten these people again, and you will wish you had never been born. Do I make myself clear?" The half dragon punctuated her final threat with a shake before throwing barbarian to the floor and glaring at him.

Rubbing his throat, Jacen glanced around for any support from his would-be comrades, but they all had shrunk back into the shadows, their fear of the draconic paladin overriding any latent sense of loyalty they may have felt for the barbarian. Growling under his breath, he regarded Ixenthraxsis with open dislike before ducking back, the air of humiliation that surrounded him palpable.

Sharing an uneasy glance with Valen, Jen knew they didn't need the Seer to prophesise that the barbarian was going to be a particularly nasty thorn in their sides.

Sparing Jacen one last, distasteful look, Ixenthraxsis then turned back to Jen. "Although I have nothing solid to offer you, I do know of a rumour..." Settling herself back down on the floor, the half dragon continued. "Usually, in an illithid city, thralls would not wake up... but here, they do. What's more, it is making the illithid nervous. Allegedly, thralls have been asking themselves now for a while why this should be... then came this alliance with the Valsharess." She regarded each drow present in turn. "I need not tell you how unusual that is – the drow and the illithid trade, yes. They may even band together against a common foe, but this Valsharess has essentially marched in here and demanded fealty... and they have given it. Freely." She paused, finding Jen's hazel eyes with her bright copper ones. "The rumour pertains to this. Why should the illithid debase themselves in this way? There can only be one reason; that they have been... destabilised in some way."

"Destabilised?" Valen asked, his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The one thing that keeps illithid society together is their Elder Brain. It is their... ruler; their guidance – without it, they are lost. And these illithid are lost indeed. It is getting harder for them to control their thralls and they are finding it difficult to communicate amongst themselves. Only one conclusion can be drawn; their Elder Brain is either dying... or it is already dead."

There was a snort from the corner. "It ain't a rumour – it's dead as a door nail."

Snapping her head around, Ixenthraxsis observed Jacen with open dislike. "How do you know this?"

"Stands to reason, just like you said; that and 'flayers are more nervous than you could ever believe," Jacen grinned. "I've been around 'em for long enough now to know what a city with a fully functional Elder Brain feels like... and they don't feel like this place. This place feels dead."

Many of the other thralls nodded at this, murmuring their assent.

"Sounds like a perfect opportunity," Jen said eventually. "Without an Elder Brain, the illithid are as vulnerable as they're ever going to be. If we take them out..."

"Not all of us are fighters," Milla broke in after a long pause. "I fear that many of us run the risk of being killed if we follow this path."

"That's the way it is, wench!" Jacen leered. "Only the strong survive-"

"Although the stupid definitely walk a fine line-" Valen interrupted with a snort.

"I know it's a long shot," Jen said firmly, shooting the tiefling a quelling look. "And I realise that not everyone here can fight – but I don't think we're going to get a better chance. Whatever happens, we have to break this alliance, and with the information you've provided, I seriously doubt we'll be able to talk them round; if the Elder Brain is indeed dead..."

Nodding slowly, Ixenthraxsis stood up. "You speak wisely." She then faced the rest of the slaves. "I know a lot of you do not consider yourselves fighters, but we now have the best opportunity we've ever had to fight our way free; if we work together, we can succeed." Turning her attention solely upon Jacen, the half dragon stepped forwards. "Despite your nature, I know there is nothing more you desire than your freedom, barbarian; in this, I am willing to fight by your side. However; one hint of betrayal..." she lowered her head threateningly "just one, and I will serve as your judge, jury and executioner within a heartbeat. Is this clear?"

Curling an upper lip at the half dragon, Jacen nodded curtly.

"Good." She turned away. "Then we have much to plan. Jenalil will meet with her comrades tomorrow and tell them of our plans; everything being well, we shall be ready to fight tomorrow's eve." She nodded to the half elf. "Blessings of Tamara be on you all."

o0o

Straightening his tunic and arranging it so that it exhibited just enough of his lean, well muscled torso without looking like he'd tried too hard, Xen'shai regarded himself in the grimy mirror located in his room. He had unbound his long, silvery hair fully and allowed it to cascade in a nacreous wave over his shoulders and had discarded his usual black leather armour for a pair of soft breeches and a loose fitting, laced tunic; raising an eyebrow at his reflection, he smiled sardonically as he lifted a glass filled to the brim with a deep red wine and toasted himself before setting it back down on the tray, adjacent to its crystal twin.

Pushing his feet into his boots, he glanced around the room once more; candles flickered in darkness, lending the room a warm yet mysterious aura, and a soft fur covered the bed: perfect. Smiling to himself once again, he quickly slung his sword belt around his lithe hips and tried to ignore the delicious tendrils of anticipation that were currently unfolding deep within his belly as he made for the door.

Sauntering louchly down the steps to the slave pens, the Deathsinger wrinkled his nose at the stench emanating from below and thanked the Shadow that he had remembered to place a bowl of steaming hot water in his room – the best he could do in lieu of an actual bath, but it would have to be enough. Before he touched the last step, the wererat was there to meet him, as fawning as before; regarding him disdainfully, the drow waited for the gate that heralded the entrance to the slave pens to be opened for him.

"What's milord's pleasure?" Cant simpered. "Is the mistress with you?"

"No," Xen'shai replied haughtily. "I have come to collect my thrall."

"Your thrall, milord? And which one would that be?"

Rolling his eyes, the Deathsinger took a threatening step forwards. "The half elf, iblith."

"But the mistress-"

"Has no need of - nor interest in – females. I however, do. Fetch her."

"But milord, the mistress commanded the demon to protect her... Cant doesn't want his arms ripped off for trying to take her away..." The wererat bobbed his head nervously.

Sighing through gritted teeth, Xen'shai folded his arms over his chest. "Then take me to her. The tiefling knows not to touch me."

"Yes, milord, or course, milord... let me just fetch my keys..."

Scampering over to a wooden rack spotted with mould located behind an ancient desk, Cant unhooked a large bunch of keys and then made his way over to the second of the large iron gates; unlocking it, he bowed low, gesturing the drow through.

Rolling his eyes, Xen'shai marched past him with a frustrated sigh.

o0o

"You honestly think this will work?"

Valen regarded Jen from his position, laying down on his stomach upon one of the benches, his chin resting upon his forearms.

The half elf shrugged. "I don't know, but if you have any other ideas, I would love to hear them..."

Shaking his head, the tiefling rolled off his stomach and sat up. "I've got nothing. Rizonym?"

The drow fighter shook his head solemnly. "I too have nothing more to offer."

"Well, that's that." Valen stood up and began to walk away.

Alarmed, the half elf unfolded her legs out from underneath her and made to stand up. "Uh, Valen? Are you okay?"

"Yes," the tiefling nodded. "Shouldn't I be?"

"Well... where are you going?" Jen asked, a hint of anxiety to her voice that betrayed her worry that she had managed to annoy the unpredictable Weapon Master once again.

"Uh, well, if you have to know, I've got to go and water the dragon..." he answered with a slightly bemused, lopsided smile.

"Water the..." Jen's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry... I thought, um, I mean, I wasn't thinking, I... okay. See you in a minute."

Shooting Rizonym a bewildered look, the tiefling shrugged his shoulders. "Uh... okaaay... see you in a minute..."

Grinning to himself, the scarred drow just shook his head.

Watching the Weapon Master turn the corner, Jen buried her face in her hands. "Oh, why did I have to say that..."

Now chuckling, Rizonym stood up and made his way over to the bench and sat himself down next to the half elf. "Do not worry – it was an innocent enough question," he rumbled.

"I know," Jen answered, her face still hidden behind her hands "but even so..."

Regarding her for a long moment, the scarred drow smiled a little to himself. "It is... good to see that you and the Errdegah-chath have finally come to an understanding."

Glancing towards Rizonym, Jen felt a slight flush touch her cheeks. "Well... I... I wouldn't say that-"

"Boss!"

Snapping their heads up, both the half elf and the drow frowned as Deekin stumbled over to them. "Boss!"

"What's wrong, Deekin?"

"Slaver mens coming!" the kobold rasped. "Coming with Xen'shai!"

"Xen'shai?" Jen's frown deepened. "Why's he down here? What's happened?"

"Deekin not know, but Deekin does recommend that Boss pretends to be thrall again, yes?"

Realising why Deekin had run ahead, Jen nodded emphatically. "Good point, Deek; thanks. Where's Ixenthraxsis?"

"Dragon-lady hide. She not want to be locked up again."

"Good. Okay." She squared her shoulders and momentarily glanced around, looking to see if Valen was anywhere near, to no avail. "I wonder why Xen'shai's down here?"

Rizonym just shrugged his shoulders by way of reply.

"There she is, milord; all ready and unmolested for your pleasure!"

Rolling his eyes once again at Cant's simpering deference, Xen'shai strode out of the gloom.

"Jenalil! Come here."

The Deathsinger's command was haughty, but the small, significant look her offered her spoke clearly of apology and welcome.

Trying to resist the urge to frown again, Jen stepped forward. "What is your wish, my Lord?"

Nodding to Cant, Xen'shai extended a hand and grasped Jen by the elbow. "You're to come with me. Thank you, slaver, that is all."

Without another word, he led a very confused Jen away.

o0o

Allowing herself to be led, the half elf kept silent until they had left the confines of the slave pens below and were climbing the stairs to the inn above. Shaking her arm angrily for his grasp, Jen dropped her amenable façade and rounded upon the Deathsinger furiously.

"What in the nine hells are you playing at?" she hissed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one below could hear her. "Why have you taken me from there?"

At this outburst, Xen'shai looked shocked. "I... I saw the conditions of that place earlier; I couldn't leave you down there all night..." He dropped his head and trailed off.

Sighing, Jen suddenly felt a small stab of remorse for snapping at him. "What about the others?"

"Nathyrra is arranging to have them brought up later. It.. it made more sense for... me to collect you and for her to collect the males... after all, what interest would your average female have in another"

"Oh." In putting it this way, Jen could see that his argument made sense. "I see. What about Deekin?"

"Never fear; she will not leave him there."

"Oh." Jen paused. "Good."

Smiling, Xen'shai gestured up the stairs. "After you?"

Nodding dumbly, the half elf gathered her gauzy skirts in her hands and began to climb.

Watching her climb, the drow bard just smiled.

o0o

Grimacing as he stepped away from the dark corner that the slaves had long been using as an impromptu privy, the tiefling straightened his woollen vest and began to make his way back to where Jen and Rizonym were waiting for him. Humming tunelessly under his breath, Valen began to absent mindedly sing a little ditty he had learnt when he lived in Sigil, something he had't done for a while. Frowning a little to himself, the tiefling briefly wondered why the song had come back to him, but continued to sing it nonetheless.

"I am the unbeliever... a shadow on the plains... a whisper true, a song to you...my lover's soul refrains..."

"V...Valen?"

Spinning around on the spot, the Weapon Master turned to face a strikingly pretty raven haired elven woman.

"Yes? Neniril, isn't it?"

"Yes," Neniril bobbed a curtsey and swallowed hard. "My lord, I... I just want to ask you something?"

The tiefling began to walk slowly with the elf at his side. "Are you sure you don't want to ask Jen?"

"It is about her."

"Oh. Okay... what do you want to ask?"

"Is... is she going to get us killed tomorrow?"

Stopping dead in his tracks, Valen scowled at the elf. Seeing her shrink back from him, he shook his head and contrived a smile upon his face.

"Why do you ask that?"

Neniril shrugged her petite shoulders. "Because... because as much as I wish to be free and not to be a thrall any more, I can't see how we're going to do this. There are hundreds of slavers – 'flayers, duergar, drow – out there... and we are, what, eighty in number? And most of us are not fighters..."

Casting his hand over his face, the tiefling rubbed his stubble-swathed chin and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't promise you anything, Neniril... but if anyone can get do this and get you out of this, it's Jen. Between us all, we've got a good chance."

Nodding thoughtfully, the elf smiled nervously as she bobbed another curtsey. "Thank you."

Feeling a little bemused, the tiefling ran a hand through his hair. "You're, uh, welcome."

Shaking his head as he watched the elf run off with a slightly ironic grin upon his face, Valen ambled back to where Rizonym and Jen were waiting for him, his hands deep in his pockets and his mind full of questions.

Nodding at Rizonym by way of greeting, the tiefling sat back down on the bench he had recently vacated. "Where's Jen?"

Twisting the edge of his tunic in between his clawed hands, Deekin crept forwards. "Uh, Deekin would say that Xen'shai came and took Boss away."

Furrowing his brow as he tried to muddle his way through the odd way the kobold spoke, Valen eyed Deekin suspiciously. "What?"

"Xen'shai came and collected her," Rizonym translated.

His smile slid from his face as an acute sense of horror crystallised deep within his gut. "What?" he repeated, slowly getting to his feet.

"Xen'shai came and collected her."

"And you let him _take_ her?" the tiefling roared, launching himself at the drow fighter and dragging him up by the front of his vest.

Wrenching himself from the Weapon Master's grasp, Rizonym gave Valen an incredulous look. "Of course I did! Why should I not?"

"Because he... he.. because..." Valen stuttered angrily before throwing his arms up in the air "It doesn't matter! You should never have let her go!"

"What is all this noise?" Ixenthraxsis stepped from around the corner. "Valen? Something ails you?"

Breathing heavily, the tiefling rounded upon the half dragon before catching himself. "Did you see her go?" Did you?"

"Did I see who go?" the paladin asked slowly.

"Jen! Did you see her go?"

Ixenthraxsis shook her head. "I was told the slavers were coming through; I did not wish to run the risk of being locked up again, so I hid... why? What has happened?"

"That bastard Deathsinger has taken Jen upstairs," Valen replied furiously, glaring icily at Rizonym.

"Deathsinger?"

"Xen'shai!"

"Xen'shai?" the half dragon looked confused. "Sorry, but you are losing me..."

Sighing angrily, Valen took a deep breath. "One of our group."

Ixenthraxsis' look of confusion deepened. "And you are angry that one of your own has taken the half elf? That... doesn't make much sense."

"It would if you knew him," the tiefling muttered, clenching his hands into fists. "He's a complete and utter snake."

Giving the tiefling a shrewd look, the draconic paladin nodded slowly. "I... see." She clapped a taloned hand upon Valen's shoulder, making him growl. "What has happened has happened – there is nothing we can do except trust in Jenalil." She gave the tiefling a significant look. "Chances are, there has been information uncovered that the rest of your people wish to share post haste with her; just because you do not like this Xen'shai character does not mean his intentions are automatically anything other than noble-"

Snorting in angry disbelief at this, Valen stared fiercely at the distant gate, but did not answer.

"Calm yourself, good Valen," Ixenthraxsis said soothingly. "I am sure she wi-"

Shaking off the half dragon's hand, Valen stalked away towards the gate and glowered at the stairway beyond.

Sighing to herself as she watched the Weapon Master leave, the half dragon shook her head again and glanced towards Rizonym, who simply offered her a weary look in exchange.

o0o

Opening the door to his room, Xen'shai bowed slightly and graciously gestured for Jen to enter.

"Cut it out, Xen'shai..." Jen sighed as she stepped past him. "Why are we in here? Where's Nathyrra?"

The drow rose a sardonic eyebrow to himself before straightening himself up. "She is still in the bar, talking with that dreadful duergar."

"So... when is she going to call up the others?"

"As soon as she can tear herself away." Closing the door behind him, the Deathsinger offered Jen a mischievous smile. "Sometimes, being the 'help' can work entirely in your favour."

"Really." The half elf quirked an eyebrow. "So I've got to wait here until she is free?"

"In a manner of speaking," Xen'shai offered a small, rather secret smile before making across the room to where two crystal wine glasses were waiting. Offering her one, he gave her a slightly challenging look. "Is that such a bad thing."

Eyeing the glass a little apprehensively before she took it, Jen shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose that depends."

"Does it? On what?"

Cradling the glass in both hands, Jen glanced away, unsure of exactly of what the Deathsinger wished her to say. Spying a bowl of steaming water upon a shelf, she gave him a puzzled look instead.

"What's that for?"

Setting his glass down, Xen'shai smiled at her. "I noticed the state of those pens. I thought you might appreciate the chance to wash your feet, at least."

"You... thought I might like to wash my feet?" the half elf smiled into her glass as she took a sip of wine. "That's... uncommonly thoughtful of you."

"The Jallil d'Ssussun's wellbeing is important to me," the Deathsinger said softly, bringing the bowl down from the shelf and setting it carefully upon the small nightstand by the bed before taking a soft looking cloth and dipping it in the water. "If you would..." he then gestured that she should sit.

Taking another sip of her drink, Jen hesitated for a moment before perching upon the edge of the bed and holding her hand out. Smiling to himself, Xen'shai soaked the cloth again and knelt on the floor before her, never taking his eyes off her. Then, with his free hand, he slowly slid the light translucent material that covered her legs slowly up her calves and over her knees.

"Uh, what are you doing?" the half elf asked, a flush of crimson creeping up the side of her neck as she felt the drow's cool, obsidian fingers brush against the muscle of her legs.

"I cannot wash your feet with all that material in the way, you know," he replied softly before applying the warm, damp cloth to her skin.

"Oh," Jen remarked, swallowing convulsively. "I can do that myself, you know."

Smiling slyly, the Deathsinger re-wetted the cloth before answering her. "But I am... more than willing," he countered, holding her eyes with his whilst he re-applied the cloth gently. "You so rarely get a chance to relax..."

Biting her bottom lip momentarily, Jen simply shrugged her shoulders and tried to ignore the small, swooping feeling that blossomed deep within her gut as Xen'shai continued to applying himself to her feet.

Although it only took him a few minutes to complete his task, it seemed to last a life time; by the time he was finished, Jen was feeling rather warm and as he dropped the cloth into the bowl one last time and stood up to return it to its shelf, she took a good, long swallow of wine to calm her slightly jangling nerves.

Smiling to himself, the Deathsinger slowly made his way to the half elf's side. Noticing her stiff posture, he reached up and smoothed an errant lock of hair from her face; feeling her jump slightly and shy away from him under his fingers, he cocked his head to once side quizzically and sought her eyes with his once again.

"A copper for your thoughts?"

"It's nothing," she whispered in return, clutching at her wine glass like her sanity depended on it.

Moving closer, Xen'shai lounged upon the bed, propped up by one elbow, his eyes never leaving hers. "You cannot fool me, Jenalil..." He then reached over slowly and lightly plucked the wine glass from her unresisting hand; leaning across her, he then set it down upon the nightstand with a small click, but did not withdraw.

Leaning back slightly, Jen tried to calm her breathing.

"Why are you trembling?" the Deathsinger murmured, trailing his fingertips lightly along her upper arm, raising a line of goosebumps.

Shivering slightly, Jen leant back further. "I'm not."

Shifting his weight slightly so that he could lean closer towards her once again so that she felt as if she were drowning in his emerald eyes, Xen'shai smiled again.

"Liar."

He no more than breathed the word as he trailed his fingers up the side of her neck and grazed the ball of his thumb along her bottom lip, causing Jen to gasp slightly and close her eyes as she felt an involuntary warmth flood heavily through her lower belly.

Now so close that she could sense the heat emanating from his skin, Jen felt herself being guided backwards; stretching out a hand to balance herself, Xen'shai ran is hand down her arm and interlaced his fingers with hers. Feeling the warm, soft brush of his lips against hers, she tried momentarily to pull away, but to no avail; feeling his other hand slide through her hair and trail down the side of her neck, she finally accepted his kiss.

At first, his attentions were light, causing an almost unbearable tremor to crawl its way down her spine and root itself deep within her; feeling this tremor, the Deathsinger deepened the kiss, testing her boundaries. At first, she resisted, holding her lips tightly shut, but she quickly relented when he ran his fingertips along the curve of her pointed ear, causing her to gasp slightly and thrust her hand into his hair. Smiling at her show of passion, Xen'shai allowed his tongue to entwine around hers before sliding his hand slowly from her ear and over her shoulder to cup one breast. With a practised flick of his thumb, he then released the knot that held the front of her bodice together; feeling the material rumple and go slack as the laces loosened, he slowly disentangled himself from her mouth and began to work his way inexorably downwards.

Allowing a slight moan to escape her lips, Jen shivered as she felt him nibble at her neck and ran her hand through his hair... and stopped.

_Something... wrong. Something... missing._

Snapping her eyes wide open, the half elf looked down to find Xen'shai nuzzling the tops of her exposed breasts.

"No... this is... wrong... stop it!" she panted, pushing the Deathsinger's head away from her with one hand whilst trying to wrench her other hand free from his grasp. "Stop it!"

Lifting his head, Xen'shai regarded her flushed appearance with a lopsided smile. "No point in being coy, ussta ssinjin jallil," he breathed huskily as he tried to cover her mouth with his again; to this, Jen turned her head and began frantically to try to bring the two pieces of her unlaced bodice together, all the while trying to push the amorous drow off her.

For a moment, she feared that he simply would not stop, but eventually, he sat up; at first, a flash of anger crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced with a confused, almost hurt look of rejection as his breathing calmed and the wild cast bled from his eyes. For a long moment, they regarded each other, unsure of what to say, until the half elf drew her legs up underneath herself, trying once again to ignore the slippery, warm sensation of her own readiness, and fled the room.

"Jallil! Jenalil!" Xen'shai gasped after her, another spasm of anger crossing his face as she bolted for the door. "I am sorry! I was overcome... please!"

Although she heard his words, she didn't even pause to glance over her shoulder; instead, she wrenched the door open and ran down the corridor, back, much to the Deathsinger's dismay, to the stairs that led to the slave pens.

Running a hand through his now tangled hair, Xen'shai cursed loudly before flinging her half empty wine glass at the wall opposite him in sheer frustration, where it exploded in a plume of deep crimson liquid. Watching the claret run down the walls like bloody tears, the Deathsinger sighed deeply before looking back to the door; making his own way out to the corridor beyond, he clenched his fists went to seek his brother's counsel.

o0o

Not really caring if anyone saw her, Jen ran down the corridor towards the staircase that led to the slave pens. Looking back, she would ask herself why she did not seek Nathyrra, but at that particular moment in time, all she wanted was to secrete herself away in the noisome depths and take advantage of the shadows.

How dare he? How dare he take advantage of her? Determined not to cry, the half elf swallowed past a hard lump of shame in her throat and tried to place all the blame for her actions squarely upon the Deathsinger, but deep down, she knew that she was at least partially at fault for what had happened, and it was from this that her sense of shame grew and bore fruit; no matter how much she tried to deny it, part of her was still tempted to run back and give in to her own, confusing desires.

Upon reaching the stairs, she paused for a moment to clumsily re-lace her bodice; drawing her forearm across her brow, she then tried to calm her breathing and cool her flushed countenance before descending as quickly as she could, entering the room below at a flat run.

Glaring surlily through the bars of the gate, the tiefling lifted his head at the sound of footsteps ahead, his heart suddenly thudding painfully in his chest. Catching a glimpse of a cloud of midnight blue pass by in the gloom, he straightened up from his slouch and peered forwards, trying to ascertain whether it was Jen or not.

By the resultant high pitched squeal and crackle of energy, he guessed it probably was.

Marching the wererat Cant in front of her, Jen then came into view looking flushed and shaken.

"Jen!" Alarmed, the tiefling tried to catch her attention; frowning slightly, she hung her head and pointedly looked in the the other direction, away from him.

Feeling his mouth go dry, Valen tried to swallow.

"Jen!" He tried again, hissing as loudly as he dared. Again, she all but ignored him as Cant fumbled with the keys, his face looking slightly blistered.

"You get back, you bastard!" the wererat near barked, his nervousness plain from the jangling of the keys in his hands. "I'm just lettin' 'er back in!"

Growling, the Weapon Master backed off and watched as Cant unlocked the gate, allow Jen to step through, and then close it again.

As soon as the lock clicked back into place, Valen near flew forwards, concern etched into his face.

"Jen – are you all ri-"

Pushing past him, the half elf said nothing as she scurried off into the darkness.


	26. Crossroads

_For Valen / Xen'shai character concepts, take a peek at my DeviantART page (link on my profile) :)_

_This chapter was hellish. The muse was belligerent throughout, mainly because I wouldn't let her have her own way entirely. Bah._

Chapter 26 – Crossroads

Propping herself up by one elbow on the bar, Nathyrra fought desperately to stay awake.

She had considered making excuses and just leaving, but it was hard to get a word in edgeways with Ilfra... that and the fact that although the vast amount of what she spouted was tripe, there was the occasional nugget of pure gold amongst the drunken rubbish. The assassin had been careful to pace herself when it came to her wine, but the duergar's reserves seemed to be virtually endless, and by the time Ilfra had reached the conclusion of her tale about the time she and her troop came across a silver dragon and how they had single handedly managed to cheat it out of most of its hoard, she was finding herself experiencing that curious mixture of light-headedness and bone-deep exhaustion that only came with imbibing just a little too much alcohol after a hard day.

Glancing up, she nodded at the slaver opposite her even though she had no idea what Ilfra was saying at that point; although listening to the duergar's slurred, broken speech, she guessed that the duergar didn't have much of a clue either. It was then that she noticed that Szinaufein had disappeared; frowning a little, she looked around for him, but he was indeed gone. Feeling a little miffed that he had left without telling her, Nathyrra sighed irritably.

"Did you see where my retinue went?"

"Wha? Th' cutie boy?" Ilfra shook her head, a silly grin plastered across her face as she burbled into her drink. "'Ee wen' not long ago. Said.. said... said 'ee thought 'ee'd 'eard sommat. Dunnono what, though..."

Looking faintly disgusted, Nathyrra shrugged her slender shoulders. "I heard nothing."

"Yeah, well, 'ee wen'." She threw her hands up in the air, pouring half a tankard's worth of wine over one of the males she travelled with. "Poof! An' 'ee was gone!"

Rolling his eyes and wringing out his beard, the male duerger shook his head and sighed heavily. "Ilfra, y'had enough yet?"

"What?! What're'y'askin' me tha' for; I barely begun y'heathen scum..."

"Jabbress?"

Tearing her attention from the macabre spectacle that was the inebriated duergar, Nathyrra swivelled around upon her seat.

"Szinaufein? I thought you'd gone..."

The young ranger bowed low. "No, Jabbress; I heard a disturbance and went to see what it was about. I fear we need to talk."

Frowning slightly, the assassin turned back to Ilfra. "I am sorry; I must go. It has been an... interesting evening."

Ilfra said nothing as she took another swig from her tankard and slipped off her seat with an odd, girlish giggle.

"All right... I think that's as good a cue as any..." muttered the former Red Sister as she stepped over the recumbent, sniggering form of the dwarf and made her way to the corridor beyond.

Stepping from the warm fug of the bar into the relative chill of the passageway, Nathyrra shivered a little before turning to Szinaufein.

"What is the problem?"

The ranger said nothing and just smiled.

"Well? What's happened?"

"Nothing has happened," Szinaufein smirked. "I just thought you needed an excuse to get away from that awful duergar."

"What?" Nathyrra shook her slightly alcohol-clouded head, causing the ranger to roll his eyes and smile broadly at her. "If I hadn't have left so I could make it look like something was up, you'd still be in there, being forced to drink quite appalling wine and listen a constant litany of awful anecdotes that dreadful dwarf seems to have no end of." His countenance softened as his smile grew tender. "Plus, you look exhausted."

Running a self concious hand over her face, the assassin shrugged. "I'm fine. And although a lot of what she was saying was rubbish, Ilfra also gave us a lot of good information."

"With all due respect, Nathyrra; she gave us a lot of good information about two hours and three bottles of wine ago." He glanced up the corridor and hesitantly held out one hand. "Come on; I've arranged you a room."

Taking his proffered hand almost absent mindedly, Nathyrra glanced down towards the stairs to the slave pens. "Maybe I should just-"

Grinning ruefully, Szinaufein tugged lightly upon her hand. "They will be fine, ussta jallil. You, however, need rest."

"But-"

"Nathyrra; please don't make me pick you up and carry you to your room - as much as I would enjoy it, I don't think I could take the punishments you'd inevitably have in store for me come morning if I did. So, please – think of yourself for once and go to bed?"

For a long moment, the assassin regarded the younger drow in stony silence before she smiled wearily. "I don't like to think of them down there, Szinaufein... it just doesn't seem right."

"I know," he sighed. "Neither do I. But if we are to succeed, we have to continue with this charade."

"Yes, yes... I realise that," Nathyrra responded as she stifled a yawn with one hand. "I'm sorry. Maybe it is a good idea..."

Taking her by her shoulders, the ranger began to gently steer the assassin in front of him down the corridor. "Yes, it's a very good idea," he murmured into one sharply pointed ear with a smile as he used the action to allow himself a very surreptitious and entirely gratuitous glance down the front of her leathers. "A very good idea indeed..."

Yawning again, Nathyrra felt her eyelids drooping as she lent her head backwards against Szinaufein's chest, causing his smile to widen into a grin as they walked together up the passageway together, the assassin more than happy to allow the ranger to take the initiative as he opened the door to her room and guided her in before releasing her shoulders.

Smiling sleepily, Nathyrra turned to regard her companion, who was now leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, a hopeful glint to his eye.

"Well, goodnight," she yawned, oblivious.

"Uh, yes. Goodnight..." the ranger replied, shifting his weight forwards slightly.

Patting him affectionately on the shoulder, Nathyrra smiled sleepily. "You're a good lad."

Rolling his eyes, Szinaufein grinned. "I'm not some kind of dog, vallabha Nathyrra."

"I know... I know..." she yawned mightily. "Sorry..."

"It's okay," the ranger murmured, daring to raise his hand and smooth her thick, silvery hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. "It's been a long day."

"It has... a long, tiring day," the assassin agreed, running her own hand through her hair, mussing it up once again. "Time to sleep."

Nodding, Szinaufein leant closer, deciding to try his luck.

Nodding back, Nathyrra closed the door.

Stopping himself before his lips met the grimy wood, Szinaufein regarded the grain of the door with raised eyebrows before dragging a hand through his hair and resting his forehead against it.

"Fair enough... goodnight then, ssinjin qu'essan," he sighed wearily. "See you in the morning..."

o0o

For a moment, Valen just watched as Jen disappeared into the darkness ahead, her head down, ignoring the curious looks the other slaves gave her, before he quickly hurried after her, a decidedly sick feeling settling in his stomach.

_What had that bastard drow done to her to make her act like this?_

Slowing up as he approached her, for a moment he was lost for words; Jen was sat on the farthest bench, her arms encircling her drawn up knees with her face completely hidden. Deekin, who had obviously noticed that there was something wrong with his boss, was standing in front of her, stroking her hair with a clawed hand, murmuring soothing words that the tiefling couldn't quite make out.

At first, he thought she was crying; feeling his heart sink a little, the Weapon Master coughed behind one hand and waited for her to respond, on one hand needing to know what had transpired whilst on the other wishing he was a million miles away.

At his cough, Deekin looked up with massive eyes and shrugged his thin shoulders, indicating his own confusion with regards to the whole situation, before Jen slowly lifted her head and regarded Valen steadily, her eyes dry.

"Are... are you all right?" the tiefling asked as Deekin slowly moved away, feeling a twinge of shame in asking such a stupid question, but unsure of what else to say.

"Fine."

Jen's answer was curt and resulted in her hiding her face once again.

"What happened?" Taking a step closer, a wave of anger rippled through him as different scenarios flitted through his mind, each one worse that the one that preceded it.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

Narrowing his eyes, the tiefling ran a frustrated hand over his face.

"That implies something did happen."

Without raising her head, Jen just shrugged.

"So..." he prompted.

"So... what?" the half elf raised her head and regarded him blankly

Shifting uncomfortably, the tiefling sat down on the bench next to her, his expression grave.

"What did he do?"

Sighing irritably, Jen turned her head from him. "Nothing. Seriously."

"Jen, I know something hap-"

"It doesn't concern you."

The finality of her words cut through his already frail sense of calm. "If he's hurt you..."

Rolling her eyes at what she perceived as the stupid bravado of his words, Jen pointedly looked away again. "And if he has; what are you going to do about it?"

"Kill him."

"Thought you might say that," she muttered under her breath. "Your answer to everything, isn't it?"

Bristling slightly, Valen scowled at her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Jen shook her head with a sigh. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" he shot back, aware that his temper was rising but unable to prevent it. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it?"

"Valen, go away. Please."

Watching her from the corner of his eyes with a frustrated, slightly confused look on his face, the tiefling sat back, but said nothing whilst Jen retreated to the sanctuary of her arms.

Together they sat silently side by side, the half elf trying to rationalise events in her mind, the tiefling wrestling with a bewildering plethora of conflicting emotions, one question overriding everything.

"Why did you go with him?"

Sighing angrily, Jen threw her head back and regarded the cobwebbed ceiling above her.

"Why shouldn't I? He is on our side, isn't he?" she answered, her voice tight.

"But you know what he's like!" Valen retorted disdainfully in response. "I know Nathyrra has warned you!"

"Yes, Nathyrra has warned me... and don't think I'm not aware of what he's like!" the half elf snapped back, all of her frustration and anger towards the drow now transferred squarely on to the tiefling. "Why do you think I'm back down here instead of taking advantage of the fact that he gets to sleep in a relatively nice bed! I know that he's a philandering bastard - anyone with eyes and half a brain can see that - and yet, at the same time, he's also charming, loyal and actually seems to like me, which is definitely more than I can say for some people!"

"He 'seems to like you' simply because your naivete is just mind-blowing sometimes!" Valen growled, his whole demeanour hardening at her harsh words. "He knows that all he has to do is smile nicely and pay you a few nicely worded compliments and you're like well-worked clay in his hands!"

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"You know damn well what I mean!"

"Let's just pretend I don't, hmm? Just what are you implying?"

"I'm not _implying_ anything..."

"I just don't see what your problem is! Let's just think about this objectively for once: has he actually ever betrayed you personally?"

"Well, no, but-"

"- and has he ever actually gone back on his word?"

"Not as such, no... but-"

"-has he ever shirked a fight?"

Valen sighed angrily. "No..."

"Then why do you doubt him all the time? Sure, he's a cocky bastard. I know he's a bastard. Hell, if I looked up the definition of 'bastard' in a library, it would undoubtedly say 'Xen'shai Aleanath'... but just because he's a bastard doesn't mean he's actually wilfully out to do harm, does it?!"

"You know, I actually did think that you were beginning to learn more about the Underdark and how you simply can't trust anyone," the tiefling snapped furiously in return. "But it seems that I was mistaken yet again! Just because there is no evidence does not mean he's automatically innocent."

"Or maybe you just want him to be plotting something because you don't like him?"

"No! Jen – listen to me; no matter how much you try to rationalise this – no matter how much you try to twist this around so it fits in that 'everyone is nice deep down' box you inexplicably keep in your head, Aleanath won't fit! He will take advantage of you because it suits him and no other reas-"

"It was just a kiss, Valen! That's all it was! Just a kiss..." Jen trailed off and looked away as the Weapon Master's eyes widened for just a second before his face hardened again. "I know what he wanted, but... but I wouldn't let him have it. That's all. There - happy now? Or do you wish to gloat some more over my naïve stupidity?"

Swallowing hard, the tielfing snorted."He took advantage of you-"

"No, he didn't," Jen interrupted wearily. "It was a misunderstanding." Her cheeks reddened slightly at the recollection of her encounter with the Deathsinger. "I don't think there's anything sinister about it; I think he just thought that we could take advantage of the time here to be alone together. That's all."

"Mark my words; that won't be all it is," Valen muttered. "There will be something else. There always is something else. You've got to remember: I've worked with Xen'shai before and I've seen him in action. He's up to something - I would lay Devil's Bane on it."

"And so yet again it has to be a plot?" Jen retorted at his pessimism. "It has to be something negative. It can't just be that he actually finds me just a little bit attractive?"

"Hardly. No, there's another reason-"

"Oh, thank you Valen. Thank you so much," Jen grumbled. "You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, you really do..."

"What?" For a moment, the tiefling was confused by her response; replaying the conversation back in his head, he then mentally slapped himself.

_Yep, way to go, idiot..._

"I... I didn't mean it like that," he replied hurriedly. "I meant... I meant that's not how he thinks, not that you aren't attractive. I mean, he probably does find you attractive – why wouldn't he? - which is why he... well, you know, but that won't be the sole reason; there'll be something else there, too, and bedding you will just be a bonus for him..." he trailed off , aware that he was beginning to babble as Jen's eyebrows began to crawl up her forehead in confusion.

"So? That's my problem, not yours... why are you so bothered?"

Regarding her soft, green-brown eyes and her earnest, delicate features, the Weapon Master had to suppress the urge to shrug his shoulders in defeat.

_I don't know. Honestly, I have no clue. Possibly because even though you're hardly the most beautiful of creatures I've ever met and even though you irritate the hells out of me sometimes, there is something I simply don't understand about you...about me. Because despite everything; despite all your stupid, innocent naivete, despite your usurping of my position on the whim of a ridiculous vision, despite the fact that you drive me absolutely insane with your constant, vapid optimism, I think I..._

"Because I am sworn to protect you. I gave my word to the Seer, and that includes threats from the inside, too; if I fail in that duty, I fail the Seer, and that's not something I am prepared to do."

"But I don't understand... if you don't trust him, why bring him along in the first place? You have the authority to override Imloth; you could have just said 'no' and you wouldn't be in this position."

At this display of logic, Valen pushed an errant lock of crimson hair from his face, tucked it behind one ear and shrugged. "When it comes down to it – and I hate to have to admit to this – he is useful. He can do something I will never be able to do, and that's talk to people. These alliances... yes, they can be broken with violence and strength of arms alone, but as the Seer said, sometimes that isn't enough. Sometimes, words can be worth a thousand blades." He paused for a moment. "She also said that Xen'shai has his role to play in all this, and that somehow, he is important... but how, she doesn't know."

"Important?" Jen's brows furrowed for a second. "He's... he's part of this, isn't he? Part of the Seer's prophecy?"

The tiefling shrugged. "I don't know. If she knows, she wouldn't tell me... but I got the distinct impression that his involvement is not as clear cut as your own to her."

"But she didn't recommend him; Imloth did-"

"Jen," the Weapon Master sighed wearily. "If I knew the answers, I'd tell you, I really would... but I don't. I know about as much as you do about this whole situation."

At this confession, Jen gave Valen a shrewd look. "But aren't you her main warrior? I thought... I thought you were privy to everything."

"Not so," Valen replied, shaking his head. "I don't know why – maybe it's because I'm not drow, or because I'm not one of Eilistraee's followers... but I don't know." He looked up, his face resolute. "Not that it matters; whatever the reasons, I owe it to her."

"You... owe her? That... that doesn't sound good, when you put it like that. It sounds like you're... paying off a debt."

"I suppose it could look like that," the tiefling agreed with a sigh "but it's not. She gave me a reason to live, and therefore I would do anything for her." He glanced back to Jen. "That's why I was suspicious of you."

Jen returned his glance. "And are you still? Suspicious of me?"

Valen paused for a long moment before shrugging his shoulders. "I... don't trust easily, Jen. I would be lying if I said I had you worked out, because I don't. The way you are... the way you deal with people... you're a walking contradiction; by rights you shouldn't last five minutes down here. But you have. Not only that, but you've thrived. You've succeeded where elite vzahaz have failed, although I'll be damned again if I can figure out how you've done it."

"You haven't answered my question," Jen prompted quietly after a pause.

The tiefling sighed heavily. "I know. Truth is, I don't think I can answer it... not yet."

Although his words stung, the half elf appreciated his honesty. Nodding, she turned away from him. "The Seer means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"I would lay down my life for her, if I had to."

"Why?"

It was simple question, asked in a soft, almost gentle voice, but it caught the Weapon Master off guard. For a moment, he considered just ignoring it, but glancing down at the small, almost fragile looking woman sitting beside him, he knew he owed her this at least. Taking a deep breath, he studied his calloused hands for a long moment and tried to fathom where exactly to begin explaining why the one person who had given him back his reason to live and shown him what he could be if only he gave himself the chance meant so much to him; in the end, he decided it was just best to start at the beginning and see where it led him.

"Before I met the Seer, I was a soldier in the Blood Wars. There are thousands – millions – of us out there... plane-touched beings fighting a mindless, bloody war that knows no end, just senseless, everlasting violence and hatred." He paused, trying to feel his way through his tale; realising this, Jen remained silent. "I was a good soldier," he continued bitterly. "I had a rage that even the demons whom I fought for found frightening. I... I had the ability to lose myself in a fury so pure, it changed the way I perceived the world."

Nodding slowly, Jen recalled the strange, all encompassing heat – a heat that spoke of a deep and fearful savagery – that she knew dwelt within him, but said nothing.

"It gave me the edge in battle; countless devils fell before me whilst, despite my best efforts, I continued to live. In the end, my battalion was summoned to fight in a battle on the Prime... here in the Underdark." He gave the half elf a significant look. "By the Valsharess."

"The Valsharess?" Jen asked, surprised. "How? Why?"

"If you have the right spells, you can summon and bind planars to do your bidding," Valen replied bleakly. "Being a tiefling with my own fair share of tanar'ri blood, I cannot resist the pull of such summonings... which is what the Valsharess did – she summoned us right out of the Abyss and compelled us to fight for her."

"Let me guess... against the Seer?"

The tiefling just nodded.

"So.. what? You just switched sides?"

"No," he replied harshly. "I fought, and I fought well. I dread to think how many followers the Seer lost that day..."

Seeing him hang his head in shame, Jen compulsively reached out and laid a light hand upon his; for a long moment, the tiefling just stared at it before he covered it with his other hand, allowing his almost taloned fingers to curl around hers, and looked up at her once again.

"It was during that battle that I saw the Seer. She was in the thick of the fight, trying to heal those around her... to save them. I had her in my sights; she was just another enemy at that point.. I raised my weapon and paused to strike... and then she looked at me." He stopped.

"She... looked at you?" prompted Jen, trying to make sense of the significance of this innocuous event. "Is that all?"

"Yes," he smiled; it was a distant smile, however, and Jen knew straight away that is was not meant for her. Feeling her heart sink just a fraction, she nodded.

"I... see."

"She looked at me and saw past my rage, my hatred. Underneath her gaze, my soul was laid bare – there was nothing I could do to prevent it. For a split second, I loathed her for doing this to me... but then she showed me what I could be; that I could be so much more than just a mindless, wrathful killing machine... that I could regain my humanity and stop the slaughter." At this confession, the Weapon Master held the half elf in an icy stare, almost as if he was challenging her to ridicule him for his belief that one, fateful glance could reveal all this before he continued. "After that, we were banished, back to the Abyss; back to the Blood Wars." Seeing her now nearly owlish expression, Valen squeezed Jen's hand gently. "I didn't stay there for long," he continued. "My life now had direction; I had to find the drow female who had awakened my long buried humanity. Whether it was to thank her or to punish her, I wasn't sure at that point... but I just knew I had to do it. And so I fought my way out the Abyss. I left the Blood Wars and slowly made my way here. I have been by the Seer's side ever since. Without her, I'd still be fighting in the Abyss... or worse. That is why I owe her... I owe her everything."

Unsure of what to say to such a tale, Jen just nodded slowly. She couldn't even pretend to imagine what he had been through, but one thing she could now appreciate was his initial reaction to her arrival... why he had so vehemently opposed her. In the end, she could only think of one, simple thing to say; one, simple gesture she wished to express.

"Thank you," he half elf said quietly. "You didn't have to tell me any of that."

Looking a little surprised, the tiefling just shrugged his shoulders and pulled his hands from hers. "Considering how... difficult I have been in the past, I thought it was the least I could do. Like I said: I don't trust easily. I don't have your ability to see the best in people. But I do know what I owe people. And I owed you that."

Jen shook her head. "You don't owe me anything, Valen." She sighed. "I'm only here in the first place because of that damn geas."

"But do you still fight just because of that geas?" he asked softly.

"I... I suppose not," Jen answered eventually, frowning a little. "At first, maybe. But now... there is something at play here. I don't know how to explain it; I don't even really understand it, but... this is _right_. Before, I always just felt like I would fall into these situations; my former companions used to laugh at me and say that I was the 'accidental adventurer'... but this; this feels different."

The tiefling nodded. "I know."

"It scares me half to death."

"Me too."

His answer was surprising and caught the half elf short. "What?"

"Why shouldn't it?" he replied, a small smile offsetting the potential harshness of his words. "We're entrusting everything to an untried, unknown surfacer on the strength of a vision. The Seer prophesied your coming years ago, Jen; this is something that has been in the making for a very long time. She didn't know your true identity... or at least, if she did, she didn't let on, but she's been waiting for you – for her prophetical saviour – for years now; possibly since you were born."

"Since I was... what?" Jen asked, suddenly bewildered. "I thought this was all a relatively recent thing... the Valsharess only began sending assassins after me once I reached Waterdeep, and that was only just over a month or so ago... how long has this battle been fought?"

"As far as I can gather, the Valsharess first rose to power about twenty years ago-"

"Twenty _years?!_" the half elf exclaimed incredulously. "It's taken her twenty years to get this far?"

"Well, yes... you don't achieve nearly complete domination of the Underdark in a few months, Jen. This drow... she's overrun entire cities the size of Sigil, and that takes time. She was probably working on her plans as soon as Lolth disappeared – or that's the theory, anyway."

"So when did Lolth disappear?"

"About twenty five years ago or so? You'd do better to ask Nathyrra... she knows more about this than I do."

"I... I had no idea. I thought this was all so much more, well, recent than it obviously is." She frowned again. "Shows how much I know..."

At this, Valen couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, now you do. I think the Seer decided not to tell you because it's daunting enough being the unwitting prophetical saviour and everything without realising there's twenty years worth of history to go with it."

"I suppose twenty years isn't such a long time when you're an elf."

"I suppose not."

Drawing her knees up to her chin once again, Jen fell silent for a long moment, debating with herself whether to ask the one question that had been inexplicably bothering her since the beginning of their conversation.

"Valen... can I ask you one more question?" she eventually asked.

Heeding the careful hint to her voice, the tiefling nodded. "Of course."

Taking a deep breath, the half elf wrapped her arms around her knees defensively. "Do you... do you love the Seer?"

Taken aback by the acute forwardness of her question, the Weapon Master found himself actually physically recoiling from her. "What did you say?"

Noting his response, Jen sighed inwardly, mortified at her own stupidity. "Don't worry; it doesn't matter," she replied hurriedly, wishing she could swallow the words back down and make them disappear.

"Why do you want to know?" the tiefling asked eventually, trying to compose himself.

"I... I don't know... just forget I asked, okay?" the half elf replied, hating the way his features clouded over as he shut himself off from her once again. "Please. Just forget it."

Taking a great interest in the ground at his feet, the Weapon Master leant forwards, resting his elbows upon his knees, his mind all of a sudden whirling.

_Why does she want to know?_

"That's a hard question to answer," he replied after a long pause, without sitting up. "But no, not in the way I think you're implying. I do not love the Seer. She isn't the kind of woman you can love in that way. You can worship her; take solace in her teachings and in her grace... but to love her is futile. No... I do not love her."

Cringing inwardly at the pride inherent in his words and the disdainful way in which he delivered them to her, Jen bit her bottom lip and just nodded, deciding it was probably time that she just shut up before she managed to dig a hole she had no means of escaping from.

"What about you?"

Valen's question was quiet; at first, she wondered if it was truly aimed at her. "Uh, do I love the Seer? What?" she asked, completely at a loss as to why he would ask her such a thing.

"I wasn't referring to the Seer."

"Then who are y- ...oh," Realisation dawned upon the half elf and she stopped as he looked over his shoulder at her, his searching eyes burning into her coldly. "No... of course not. As charming as he is... no."

Grunting slightly, the tiefling looked to the ground again.

Once again, they lapsed into silence.

Clearing her throat, Jen looked around herself. "Where are Rizonym and Deekin?"

Valen shook his head, but didn't not reply.

Again, silence.

Sighing, Jen stood up. "I'm going to find them... maybe try and find Ixenthraxsis and see if there's a half decent place to get some sleep."

"She said there are some pallets made up. They aren't perfect, but they're better than nothing, and we're free to use them if we so wish."

"Okay." She offered him a small, half smile. "Goodnight, Valen."

Glancing up, Valen nodded. "Goodnight, Jen."

Nodding, Jen turned and left without a backwards glance.

Sighing, the tiefling rubbed the back of his neck before standing up and following her into the gloom.

o0o

Hurrying along the corridor, Xen'shai didn't even bother to knock before he entered his brother's room. The mage was already half asleep, the covers of his borrowed bed pulled up tightly around his pointed chin, his braided hair spread out like a fan around his head so that it hung off the edges of his pillow in small, thin tendrils. Sitting down upon the stool located in the corner, the Deathsinger sighed heavily and thumped his bare feet heavily on the edge of the mattress.

"What is it..." Jehk'ril sighed without opening his eyes.

At this, Xen'shai just grunted.

Resigning himself to the fact that his brother wasn't going to allow him to sleep until he had offloaded his obvious irritation, Jehk'ril sat up and rubbed his crimson eyes sleepily. "Your plans were not successful, I take it?"

Pulling a face, the Deathsinger folded his arms over his chest defensively.

"'Shai, if you're not going to speak, then at least go and sulk elsewhere and let me sleep..."

"I had her in the palm of my hand," Xen'shai started, his annoyance plain. "Quite literally, might I add."

"What went wrong?" the mage sighed again, even though he could probably guess.

"Nothing! I did everything right... she was there, ready, ripe for the plucking – and then she stopped! _She _stopped!"

"So, she's a tease..." Jehk'ril yawned. "I thought you liked the chase."

"I like the chase when it doesn't end like this!" the Deathsinger exclaimed viciously, standing up.

"Oh, for the love of..."the mage shied away from his brother's partially unlaced breeches. "Go and see Tsabandiir if you're that desperate. Hells, go and find that duergar! Just not me. As your brother, there are some things I shouldn't be asked to consider, you know-"

"What are you babbling about?" Xen'shai cut his brother off.

Gesturing to the region of the Deathsinger's groin, Jehk'ril rolled his eyes in thinly veiled disgust.

Seemingly unfazed, Xen'shai tucked himself away and re-laced his breeches securely. "Not what I am here for, idiot. And that's not what stopped her, either. Something else did."

Smirking, Jehk'ril raised an eyebrow. "So... she didn't fear your mighty magnificence and run in sheer terror at its majesty, then?"

"Not funny, and I seem to recall telling you never to mention that incident ever again," the Deathsinger spat back, his annoyance at his brother's teasing plain. "I was drunk then. This time I'm not."

"So she bottled it... females do that sometimes. You know that."

"This was different. It was as if she was... as if she was surprised it was me."

Narrowing his eyes, Jehk'ril gave the bard a shrewd look. "What do you mean, 'she was surprised it was you'?"

"I don't know, exactly... but she ran back to the slave pens."

"And? So?"

"Please use the brains you were born with, dalninuk," Xen'shai sighed. "Who do you think she was running back to?"

Frowning, the mage, shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. What awful kobold of hers?"

"Try again," the Deathsinger replied, his tone now deadly quiet.

Realisation dawned upon Jehk'ril. "Not the Errdegah-chath... they can't stand each other!"

"Oh, really? Unless she's all of a sudden formed a deep attachment to Rizonym, why would she run there rather than to Nathyrra?" The bard then leant over conspiratorially to his brother. "Who came running back after vowing to return to Lith My'athar, conveniently turned up just as she was attacked and then carried the wench back to the mushroom grove when she was injured and guarded her like a godsdamn dog for the rest of the night, hmmm?" Xen'shai hissed venomously. "Knowing the tiefling, he's too thick-headed to realise what is going on underneath is own nose, but it isn't going to be long before the Remnant figures it out."

The.. what? Remnant? Who?" Jehk'ril asked.

"What?" Xen'shai paused, initially confused, before he realised what he had said and cursed himself soundly within the confines of his own mind. "I mean Jenalil... don't worry."

"So you might have a little competition... so what? It isn't as if you haven't had competition before-"

"I know!" exclaimed the Deathsinger. "And normally it wouldn't bother me... but at the moment, I cannot risk even the slightest possibility that something – someone – might get in my way. This is too important, Jehk'ril... we may have to take steps."

"Steps..." the mage repeated warily. "What kind of steps?"

"Steps to ensure that our dear Weapon Master doesn't stand a chance, as slight and as unbelievable as that might be. Steps that might involve his possible removal from the equation..."


	27. Awakenings

_Warning: unashamed fangirling ahead. Consider yourselves warned... :D_

_Note to self: Stop being a drama-llama and get on with the bloody plot!_

Chapter 27 – Awakening

Making her way over to where some of the other slaves were sitting in a small huddle, Jen looked for Ixenthraxsis, hoping to ask her the directions as to where the sleeping pallets were. She didn't hold much hope that they would be particularly pleasant, but she'd slept on the floors of enough dungeons to have pretty low standards when it came to her sleeping arrangements; suppressing a yawn with one hand, she mused that even if she didn't have these low standards, she still wouldn't turn her nose up at them, considering how drained she now all of a sudden felt. Feeling a presence loom behind her, the half elf glanced back to find that Valen had followed her, all the while eyeing the other slaves a little suspiciously; rolling her eyes a little to herself at his distrustful nature, the rogue continued her hunt for the half dragon paladin.

She wasn't hard to find - being over eight feet tall and covered in gleaming bronze scales was not entirely conducive to being inconspicuous after all – and as Jen approached her, she gave both of them a slightly shrewd look before smiling in welcome.

"You are back," Ixenthraxsis commented, keeping her tone light. "I trust everything is well?"

Although she addressed Jen, the half dragon glanced towards the tiefling, who scowled a little in reply.

"Yes... everything is fine," Jen replied taking great pains to ensure that her voice betrayed none of the confusion and shame she was currently still feeling. "I'm actually looking for somewhere to rest... Valen mentioned that there were some pallets made up and that we might be able to use them?"

Nodding, the half dragon indicated behind her. "Indeed. They are not perfect, but they are better than the floor."

Regarding the dirty straw beneath her feet, Jen wrinkled her nose and nodded. "I don't think it's that hard to be better than that, I have to admit..."

Chuckling to herself, the half dragon smiled, revealing a mouthful of sharp, white teeth. "You're probably right. Rest now; we potentially have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Swallowing hard, Jen just nodded.

"Your kobold companion has already sought out a place to rest, as has your drow warrior friend; do not worry, I will watch over you," she continued. "Good night, Lady Jenalil," the paladin inclined her head towards the half elf. "And you too, Weapon Master."

Grunting in reply, Valen just nodded curtly.

Leaving the half dragon to her rather serene looking contemplation, the half elf and the tiefling wandered silently over to where Ixenthraxsis had indicated to find that the pallets were actually crude looking bunks made from long planks of wood, suspended from the ceiling by thick, rusted chains. Many slaves shared them, mostly sleeping top to toe; glancing at the Weapon Master, Jen offered him a small facial shrug before inspecting the thin looking straw-stuffed sacks that served as mattresses.

They could have been cleaner, that much was true, but Jen had slept upon worse; locating the one in which Deekin was curled up upon, the half elf carefully climbed upon the suspended bunk, wincing a little as the chains creaked, causing the kobold to stir.

Opening one yellowish, reptilian eye, Deekin smiled sleepily and shifted over a little to make more room. "Boss okay now? Boss feel better."

"I'm fine, Deekin. Thank you for asking," the half elf smiled in return, not wanting to give the bard anything to be concerned about and curled herself up next to him, trying to make herself as comfortable as possible.

Feeling the bunk sink and the chains creak alarmingly as someone else clambered on board, Jen sat up to see Valen making himself comfortable at the other end. Laying back, the tiefling grumbled to himself as his feet hung uncomfortably over the end; in shifting his weight to try to make himself as comfortable as possible, he nearly kicked the half elf in the face.

"Valen..." she complained plaintively as she lay back down. "Watch where you put your feet!"

"Sorry," he replied gruffly, still trying to make it so that his feet did not dangle over the edge of the bunk, this time kneeing Jen squarely in the back whilst muttering something in a language she found quite unintelligible under his breath.

Exasperated, Jen sighed and slapped away the booted foot that was now treading upon her braid, pulling her hair painfully.

"Sorry," Valen apologised again, this time through gritted teeth. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea... maybe I should just go and find somewhere else."

Yawning, Jen shook her head. "Maybe you should just turn around so your feet have more room and you won't run the risk of braining me in the night?"

Sitting up, the tiefling regarded the half elf sceptically. "Are you sure? I mean, it's not very... seeming, is it?"

Rolling her eyes, Jen gave the Weapon Master a cynical look of her own. "We're in a dungeon with eighty other people," she dead panned before laying back down again. "I'll try to control myself if you can, okay?"

Feeling a flush creep up the sides his neck, the tiefling cast a hand over his face, hesitating little before cautiously turning himself around and laying down next to the now curled-up half elf.

"Well... goodnight," he said, quite curtly, laying back and folding his hands almost primly over his chest, bending his knees at the joint so that his feet were squarely upon the pallet, making absolutely sure that absolutely no part of him touched the half elf in absolutely any way whatsoever.

Curling her knees up to her chin, Jen just nodded. "'Night,"

"Deekin says 'Goodnight', too," the kobold croaked, making Jen smile and Valen roll his eyes.

"Goodnight, Deekin," Jen replied affectionately.

Running a hand over his face once again, the tiefling said nothing.

_Great. First time you've slept in what could be considered a bed anywhere near anything even approximating a woman in gods knows how many years, and you have to share it with a blasted kobold. If you ever needed any evidence that you truly were one of the damned..._

Sighing at this thought, Valen spared Jen one last glance, but the half elf had her back turned to him; shifting his weight into a slightly more comfortable position, he then closed his eyes and, trying to ignore the part of him that still wished to think about the evening's events, attempted to get some sleep.

o0o

Although she was tired, sleep did not come easily to Jen that night. No matter how hard she tried, she kept replaying the events of the evening before, trying desperately to rationalise what had transpired earlier within the confines of her head, but her own conflicted feelings regarding the Deathsinger made this almost impossible. On one hand, she felt disgusted – furious, even – that Xen'shai had considered her such an easy mark, and doubly furious with herself for essentially falling for it, but on the other hand, she couldn't stop but consider how cool his hands had been; how hot his mouth... Allowing herself a rather ragged sigh, the half elf turned over to lay on her back and stare at the ceiling, dreading the morning when she would inevitably have to face him again, at a complete loss as to what she was going to do.

Everything was now quiet in the pens; glancing around from her prone position, she could see that nearly everyone had retreated to the pallets and that Rizonym had ended up sharing his with two other slaves, one of whom was Neniril, the other a unknown human male who looked like he could do with a good meal inside him. Ixenthraxsis was nowhere to be seen; being too big for the pallets, Jen reasoned that she probably made her own arrangements elsewhere, probably within sight of Jacen, though, who was now sprawled upon his back a few bunks over, snoring.

Feeling the bunk sway as Valen turned over in his sleep, Jen turned her head almost reluctantly to regard the slumbering tiefling. In the gloom, his pale skin seemed to almost glow, its pallor no doubt a result of the extended period he had spent underground and away from the sun's influence; studying his sleeping features, the half elf discovered that the scowl lines that seemed so deeply embedded in his forehead and around his mouth had all but gone, his whole demeanour softened by slumber, making him seem less threatening and more, the half elf realised with some measure of surprise, of a comfort – by his sheer presence alone, she found she felt safer than she ever had done before in such a strange and unknown place. Muttering something under his breath, he sighed and curled his tail tightly around himself so that its forked tip was near enough tucked under his chin, causing him to lower his head a little and allow Jen her first good look at what marked him as something other than entirely human.

In the half light, the tiefling's horns looked almost black; for a long moment, the half elf simply studied them with her eyes, picking out swirling patterns in their ridged crenelations before she cautiously raised a hesitant hand to risk touching one with the very tips of her fingers. It was cool and hard to the touch, and much smoother than she originally would have thought; fascinated, Jen shifted her weight forwards slightly and gently tried to see how they were attached to his head, but was foiled by his long, thick crimson hair that was still caught, if slightly messily, in the habitual tail he always wore.

Suddenly, a hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist, making the half elf squeak.

"Whassit?" Valen grunted, his eyes fluttering open as he awoke; trying to focus, he recoiled a little upon seeing Jen so close, a slightly confused look upon his face.

Trying to pull her hand free, Jen stiffened, hoping his awakening was a temporary thing and that he would fall back to sleep immediately.

He didn't.

Blinking, the Weapon Master regarded her sleepily. "Wha's up?"

"N... nothing," Jen stuttered, trying to think of the most plausible excuse for her behaviour. "You, uh, you were snoring."

"I was?" Valen blinked again looking a little sheepish as he ran his free hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"That's, uh, okay," she replied, finally managing to extricate her wrist from his grasp. Watching her with half lidded eyes, the tiefling laced his hands behind his head."You slept?"

"Yes," she replied, trying not to look guilty.

He paused for a moment at her answer, his expression now cynical. "Don't lie to me, Jen."

At this, she glanced away.

"Why can't you sleep?"

Saying nothing, the half elf just shrugged.

"You want to talk about it?" he yawned.

Jen paused for a moment and the shook her head.

"Fine." Unlacing his hands, Valen rolled onto his side closed his eyes again.

With a small sigh, Jen did the same, presenting her back to him.

"Jen?"

Rolling over slightly, she regarded him over one shoulder. "What?"

Yawning mightily, the tiefling opened one eye. "If you ever want to, you know, talk... you know I'm here, right?"

Trying to suppress a sudden urge to smile, Jen just nodded before turning over once again and closing her eyes, hoping this time that the arms of sleep would welcome her.

o0o

Waking early, Nathyrra sat up in bed, for a split second wondering where in the hells she was before clutching her head as her headache made itself plain. Groaning slightly as she recollected the night before, the drow leant out of her bed and rummaged through her pack for her waterskin; finding it, she took a good long pull, grimacing a little at its now stale taste before she swung her slender legs out of the warmth of her covers and padded over to the chair where she had stowed her light leather armour. Before she pulled them on, she made use of the now-cold water located in a bowl upon the nightstand near the bed and washed herself. Feeling slightly more refreshed, she pulled a bone comb from her pack and loosed her hair from its tail to give it a good brush; once that was done, she then began the complicated chore of strapping her armour to her slight frame. It did not take long, however; upon hearing a knock at the door, the assassin snapped the last buckle in place and made her way over to open it.

Standing there with a superior looking smile upon his face and a steaming mug of tea in one hand was Jehk'ril.

"So... you are awake?" He leant to one side and peered into her room. "And alone, no less?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Nathyrra glared, purposefully blocking more of the doorway.

"Absolutely nothing, Jabbress... here," the mage replied, offering her the mug.

Regarding it suspiciously, the assassin took it. "What is it?"

"A delicate infusion of wraith spider venom and aboleth bile," Jehk'ril retorted, rolling his eyes. "It's tea. What do you think it would be?"

"Why have you brought it up?"

"My, aren't we full of questions today?" the mage replied sarcastically. "Because I care, jallil. No other reason."

Scowling, Nathyrra sniffed her drink before taking a small sip; discovering that it was indeed tea, she then took a much larger gulp. "Where's everybody else?"

"Xen'shai and Szinaufein are getting some breakfast. Szinaufein offered to see if you were awake, but it was decided the honour would fall to me."

"And Tsabandiir?"

"Busy," Jehk'ril answered, deliberately evading the question so that the assassin had no doubt that the cleric was preparing his spells for the day.

"Anyone fetched the others from below?"

"Not yet; as our mistress, we thought it unseeming for us act without your explicit instruction."

Nodding, Nathyrra took another sip from her drink. "Fair enough. I shall go and get them now – they can stay in my room so we can bring them up some decent breakfast. I doubt they will have eaten."

"Assanque, jabbress."

Trying to suppress the involuntary wince she always felt at that particular phrase, especially when spoken by a male, the assassin drained her mug and set it down upon the shelf located near the door. "Well... no time like the present. Let's go."

"Do you want me to get the others?"

Nathyrra shook her head. "No... it doesn't take five of us to go and collect our 'thralls'. No point in disturbing their breakfast."

Inclining his head, the mage stepped out of the doorway and allowed her to pass before following her down the corridor, his long, dark robe billowing out behind him like a shadow.

o0o

Picking at an unpleasantly flat breadroll, Xen'shai glowered at the ranger sat opposite him, lost in thought. Smiling almost nervously at him, Szinaufein reached across and spread some of a thick, sweet paste from a smoked-glass jar onto his own roll before stuffing the entire thing in his mouth; after swallowing, he then licked his long, ebon fingers clean and just looked quizzically at his companion.

"What's wrong?"

At first, Xen'shai ignored the younger male, still debating his next course of action within the confines of his own head.

"Uh, Xen'shai..."

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, the Deathsinger refocused all of his attention upon the ranger. "What is it?" he asked, trying to maintain his calm exterior.

"You're mashing that breadroll into oblivion and staring at me like I've done something wrong... is this to do with last night?"

Frowning a little, Xen'shai pushed his plate away and sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I heard you last night; I went out to investigate and saw the Jallil d'Ssussun running from your room," Szinaufein shrugged.

Pursing his lips into a disgruntled pout and raising an eyebrow, the Deathsinger regarded the younger male levelly for a long moment before answering. "You... saw that, huh?" he shook his head.

Reaching for another breadroll and repeating his ritual with the sweetpaste, Szinaufein nodded. "Yes. What happened?"

"I... thought she was... ready," Xen'shai began slowly.

"Ready?" The ranger quirked an eyebrow, inviting the Deathsinger to continue.

"Ready for her first stage of initiation."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the younger male looked away for a moment. "Xen'shai... are you sure this is what you have to do? It... well, it's not... it's not very... nice, is it?"

"Nice," Xen'shai dead panned in disdainful disbelief.

"Well, it's not," Szinaufein replied. "Jen's a... good person. If she wishes to join us as one of the Faithful, then that's fine... but forcing her?"

"If you had any idea as to what was at stake, you would not be saying that," the bard near growled before casting a hand over his face wearily. "It sounded so easy... sway a wench to our way of thinking? I thought I could do this in less than a tenday. Just goes to show, really..."

"Goes to show what?"

Xen'shai sighed. "Nothing. Just keep the inthel occupied so she cannot interfere, that is all I ask."

Swallowing hard, the ranger contrived to look innocent. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play the innocent with me, Szinaufein," the Deathsinger replied tersely. "I can see your interest... and quite frankly, I encourage it - the last thing I need is her making things even more difficult than they already are, and you seem to be doing an admirable job in distracting her."

Biting his lower lip and lowering his eyes so that his face was hidden by his hair, Szinaufein just nodded.

Allowing himself a faintly smug smile, Xen'shai did the same.

o0o

Making their way down to the slave pens, Nathyrra grimaced once again at the smell that emanated from below, feeling a deep twinge of guilt at having left her companions down in these dank depths whilst she had slept in a largely comfortable bed. Behind her trailed the mage, who had daintily picked up the edge of his robe like a society lady would a dress to avoid a muddy puddle, a look of intense disgust upon his face.

"Don't they ever clean this place?" he muttered. "It's filthy-"

"Stop whining," Nathyrra interrupted irritably, not in the mood for the prissy mage's complaints. "We'll just get them, go back, discuss strategies and then hopefully get the ball rolling."

Scowling at the assassin, Jehk'ril made a face behind her back like a sulky apprentice.

Stepping down into Braetan's realm, Nathyrra sought out the duergar and demanded imperiously for him to open the gates so she could collect her thralls; grumbling under his breath but not daring to defy her, the dwarf stomped over to fetch the keys before unlocking the gates and gesturing for her to enter.

Striding ahead, the former Red Sister glanced around her, taking in the appalling conditions, searching for any sign of the rest of her group; instead she was met by the pitiful sight of filthy looking slaves dressed in no more than rags huddled upon benches in the corners of the pens, regarding her owlishly as she marched past.

Finally, she spied a flash of crimson up ahead; knowing of only one person who could lay claim to such a vibrant colour, the assassin quickly made her way over to it to find Valen sitting cross-legged upon a suspended bunk next to Jen, who was talking to a blonde human female, with Deekin next to her and Rizonym sitting on a bench, watching the exchange, his crimson eyes near glowing in the gloom.

Obviously hearing her approach, the tiefling looked up; for some inexplicable reason, a murderously thunderous look crossed his face before he realised it was her and, seeing that Braetan was not with her, he broke into welcoming, lopsided grin and nudged the half elf gently, who also looked up and smiled... although hers was tinged with a hint of caution.

"Are you all all right?" Nathyrra asked almost breathlessly as she took in their dishevelled and tired looking appearances. "I would have come down earlier, but it just wasn't possible..."

At her comment, the drow couldn't help but see the half elf drop her eyes in what she could only describe as naked shame; it obviously had not gone unnoticed by the tiefling, either, for his who countenance hardened as he glanced her way.

"Is... everything all right?"

Glancing over at Valen before she spoke, Jen nodded her head. "Fine."

At this, the Weapon Master's frown deepened for a moment, but he said nothing.

"So, have you found anything out? Any ideas?" the half elf asked, all of a sudden her tone far too bright.

"Yes... I have, actually," Nathyrra replied a little warily. "but I don't think this is the place to discuss it. I've come to take you upstairs. Are you ready?"

Rather than answer the drow, Jen turned to the human in front of her. "Where's Ixenthraxsis?"

"I am here." From the gloom at the back of the pens, a massive, almost golden shape stepped forwards, making Nathyrra step backwards. "You must be Nathyrra?"

Looking incredulously at Jen, who was now grinning broadly, the assassin just nodded.

"Jenalil holds you in high regard," the half dragon in front of her replied. "I am Ixenthraxsis, Paladin of Tamara. I wish to aid you in your goal of breaking the alliance with the Valsharess."

"Y... you do?"

"Yes," replied the paladin. "On the understanding that we are to free those held in bondage here, of course."

"I... see," the assassin responded, shooting Jen a decidedly sceptical look, who had the decency to look a little sheepishly to the floor. "Well, we'll discuss that when we get upstairs... we'll let you know once we've made our arrangements."

Inclining her magnificently crested head, the half dragon said nothing more.

Jumping down from the pallet, Jen stretched slightly before making her way to Nathyrra's side, followed closely by the tiefling and Deekin. Rizonym was the last to join them; inclining his head respectfully to the assassin, he strode quickly to Jehk'ril's side, where they shared a brief, quiet exchange in rapid drow. At this, Valen marched after the scarred warrior, his mouth set in a hard line, and glowered down at both the mage and the fighter before hissing something under his breath at the both of them – although why he did this, Nathyrra couldn't guess. Looking confused, she turned to Jen, but found her staring at the floor with her arms wrapped around herself, causing an inexplicable ripple of concern to course through her.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly.

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, the half elf continued to look to the ground. "I'll explain later..."

Narrowing her eyes, the assassin nevertheless decided not to push the issue. "I'll take you upstairs now; get you some water to wash with and some food and then we can discuss our strategy – I found out some quite interesting things last night."

Nodding glumly, Jen glanced up. "Yes..." she replied in a small voice. "Unfortunately, so did I."

o0o

Marching back out of the slave pens, Nathyrra led her would-be thralls upstairs with nary a flicker of interest from Braetan, who was deep in discussion with Cant as they passed. Glancing up and down the corridor, the assassin made sure the coast was clear before leading them all to her room whilst instructing Jehk'ril to refill the bowl of water in her room. Complaining under his breath, the mage nonetheless complied, and they didn't have to wait long for him to return with the vessel full to the brim with steaming hot water.

Taking turns, the pretend-thralls used the water sparingly to make themselves at least partially presentable; satisfied that they were at last settled, the assassin then made her way back to the main common room in search of food.

Sitting around the table, Nathyrra found Xen'shai, Szinaufein and Tsabandiir, the latter still eating, his closely cropped hair uncharacteristically dishevelled into wet-looking spikes, testament to the fact that the Darkmask had only recently washed and joined his fellow drow. Upon seeing the assassin approach, he quirked an eyebrow in question and dropped his spoon into the bowl he was eating from.

"You are late," he said quietly. "What is going on?"

"I went to retrieve the others from downstairs," Nathyrra hissed back coldly.

"Rizonym is here?" the cleric asked, his demeanour all of a sudden interested.

"Yes," the female drow answered. "He is in my room."

Grabbing a handful of breadrolls and a pitcher of juice from the table, Tsabandiir then stood up and left them without another word.

Rolling her eyes as she watched the retreating form of the cleric, she turned back to regard the other two males incredulously whilst they just shrugged in response.

"They are close," Szinaufein offered. "They've always been that way."

"Yes, I've noticed," agreed Nathyrra. "Although it doesn't strike me as a particularly healthy way to be..."

"Tsabandiir always was a little obsessive," Xen'shai drawled, scraping his chair back and standing up. "but Rizonym seems to be able to handle him well enough."

Nodding, the assassin began to surreptitiously smuggle as much food from the table as she could, hiding it within the backpack she had brought with her. "What they get up to is of no concern of ours, I suppose..." she agreed, glancing around herself before straightening up and giving the other two males a significant look. "We need to go and discuss tactics now. Meet me in my room in ten minutes."

With that, she left.

o0o

Opening the door to her room, Nathyrra could see that Rizonym had already left. Irritated that the fighter and the cleric would not be present for their discussion of tactics, the assassin left her backpack with Valen and the left once again to drag the two males back to her room if necessary.

Pausing outside Tsabandiir's room, Nathyrra raised her hand in preparation to knock, but stopped short when she heard, not the sounds of passion that she had expected, but the hiss of a heated argument beyond the door. Pressing her ear to the wood, she tried to make out what the two males were fighting over, but their voices were muffled and indistinct, as if they were both aware that they were being overheard; deciding that whatever it was they were arguing over could wait, she banged on the door and barged in without waiting to be invited.

Both males were standing as she entered; Tsabandiir with a thunderous look of anger upon his sharp features, Rizonym with his arms folded over his chest and a palpable air of stubbornness about him. Glancing from one to the other, Nathyrra tried to fathom out what it was that was bothering them, but neither of them were giving anything else away, so she decided to take the initiative instead.

"If you two are finished, maybe we can get back to actually what we are supposed to be doing, hmm?" she snapped acidly, feeling a slight twinge of triumph as Rizonym glanced at his mate before looking to the floor.

Tsabandiir, however, just continued to stare at her with open hostility, but did not say anything to contradict her.

"Shall we?" she continued, gesturing facetiously to the door.

Nodding, the scarred drow trooped out, offering the assassin a small, apologetic look as he did so. The Darkmask, however, stuck his chin out imperiously and swept past her, ironically reminding her of a Matron Mother rather than a drow male.

Unable to do anything else but grin at this thought, Nathyrra followed them.

o0o

Sitting on Nathyrra's borrowed bed, Jen drew her knees up under her chin, all of a sudden feeling very nervous, an uneaten breadroll stuffed with cheese by her side. Deekin, conversely, had his head in the assassin's backpack, occasionally letting out little 'ooo's' of discovery as he found the jar of sweetpaste and a selection of strangely-hued fruits alongside dried meats and succulent looking mushrooms.

Filling his roll with some dried meat, Valen ate his breakfast slowly, keeping a one eye upon the door and another upon Jen; noticing her tense expression and her uneaten breakfast, he swallowed his last bite, dusted his hands on his knees and scooped up a small, orange-skinned fruit from beside the kobold before sitting himself next to the half elf. Although she made no indication that she had noticed him, he still held the fruit out to her and offered her a hesitant yet encouraging smile.

Shaking her head, Jen swallowed hard; all of a sudden, as hungry as she was, the prospect of eating anything made her feel decidedly sick.

"You should eat something," the tiefling murmured. "If you don't, you'll only regret it later."

Sighing heavily, the half elf took the fruit from him but did not bite into it.

"They're my favourite," he continued encouragingly. "Just... try it?"

Regarding him for a moment with large, worried eyes, Jen then fixed her attention upon the morsel in her hand and bit into it almost reluctantly. Its flesh was firm and sweet and filled her mouth with a thick, fragrant juice; normally, she would have enjoyed such a treat, but at that moment she just found its rich, cloying taste a little nauseating. Nodding appreciatively, however, the half elf gave Valen a small smile of thanks in return for the thought, which he returned hesitantly.

The door opened, making Jen jump; expecting Nathyrra to step through, the half elf's heart leapt to her throat when Xen'shai entered instead. Hearing a growl escape the tiefling sitting next to her, she had no time to react before Valen launched himself unexpectedly across the room; grabbing the Deathsinger viciously by the throat, the Weapon Master flung him violently against the opposite wall, causing the drow to gasp in surprise, his jade eyes huge in their sockets as the tiefling drew back his free arm and punched him squarely in the face; not once, not twice, but three times in quick succession.

Hearing an audible, sickening crack as Xen'shai's nose and cheekbone gave way under the tiefling's sudden onslaught, blood blossoming from his wounds immediately causing him to scream and then loll his head backwards as the other two punches connected; it was a scream that was joined almost immediately by another one as Jen flew across the room and grabbed the tiefling by one well-muscled arm, vainly attempting to pull the enraged Weapon Master from his victim.

"Valen!" she near screeched, finding it difficult to breathe as she felt the now familiar wave of heat roil through him as he wound his arm back to punch the drow again. "Leave him alone! Leave him! You'll kill him!"

Panting heavily, Valen readjusted the grip he had upon Xen'shai's neck, at first ignoring the extra weight upon his free arm; it was the bang from next to him as Nathyrra, Rizonym and Tsabandiir flung the door open after obviously hearing the commotion outside that caused him to pause and snap him momentarily out of his fury.

That was not what caused him to drop the Deathsinger, however.

Hearing a sob behind him, Valen snatched his hand away and turned around, leaving Xen'shai to hit the floor with a sickening thud, barely concious. Hurrying forwards with tears flowing freely down her face, Jen knelt by the Deathsinger's head and gently smoothed his hair from his ravaged face, offering the tiefling a look of abject confusion and hurt before she called Tsabandiir over, her voice thick and shaking. Backing away, Valen watched the cleric nod and close his eyes, drawing his holy symbol out from underneath his thin tunic; touching the bard lightly with his now glowing fingertips, Xen'shai's pulped face began to knit and reform almost miraculously into some semblance of his former handsome aspect. Gently wiping some of the extraneous blood from his face with the edge of her borrowed skirts, the half elf inspected the wounds, tears dripping off her chin as she did so, her much needed emotional release now having a focus.

Confused, the tiefling simply watched as Jen treated the drow who had all but forced himself upon her the night before with a tenderness that he had barely allowed himself to even consider might ever be aimed at him; all of a sudden feeling decidedly nauseous, he looked up and saw that even Nathyrra was regarding him with a look of horror upon her face, shocked at his vicious display of violence.

Seeing the accusation in her eyes alongside the hitching breaths of the still weeping half elf, Valen backed away further before bolting for the door.


	28. Turmoil

_I don't think I like this chapter much... repeat to self and write it a hundred times: Ely – get on with the damn plot and stop fussing about the minutiae of the characterisation and their very tangled relationships! _

Chapter 28 – Turmoil

Kneeling by the battered Deathsinger, Jen dragged the back of her hand over her damp eyes as she tried to pick strands of his long, silvery hair from the bloody mess of his once handsome face. Kneeling opposite her with a distinct air of contempt at her open display of emotion, Tsabandiir prepared a healing spell; laying a gentle hand over his comrades ravaged aspect, the Darkmask muttered the words of a prayer, beseeching his capricious god for an assistance that thankfully was duly given. As Xen'shai's face began to to re-cast itself into something more familiar, the half elf took the edge of her skirts and began to gently wipe the extraneous blood away, hoping to see how extensive the damage actually way. After a mere moment into her ministrations, she then heard a violent crash to the right of her; looking up, she caught the glimpse of a banner of red and an angrily lashing tail exit the room and guessed correctly that it was Valen.

Taking in a hitching breath in an attempt to calm her now shattered nerves, Jen furiously dashed away the new tears that then fell, leaving a streaked bloody smear across one cheek. Again, the Darkmask opposite her fell into himself, chanting under his breath before reaching out and almost caressing the Deathsinger that lay in between them with faintly glowing fingers, and the half elf watched the almost surreal spectacle of Xen'shai's nose reforming and once again standing proud from his face, the blooms of blood that had flowered under his skin around his eyes and cheeks receding away to nothing more than nasty looking bruises that would fade given time.

Still obviously in pain, the bard slowly opened his eyes, the brilliant green of his irises looking even more striking against their now bloodshot backgrounds. He gave Jen a disorientated look and groaned a little as his brows tried to knit together in confusion; raising a hand, he clutched at his forehead for a moment before attempting to heave himself into a sitting position. Laying a restraining hand upon his shoulder, Tsabandiir then forced the Deathsinger to stay upon the floor, muttering a few words in drow, the only ones of which Jen could figure out being 'no' and 'rest'.

Hearing an angry snort behind her, Jen turned and watched as conflict crawled across Nathyrra's face, obviously torn between her dislike of the bard and the shock of Valen's sudden, seemingly meaningless attack upon him. For a moment, the half elf thought that she was going to join her upon the floor, but instead she set her jaw in a show of stubbornness and reached for the door handle.

"Nathyrra – leave him," Jen pleaded, her stomach all of a sudden dropping at the thought of the assassin forcing out the tiefling's motivations and therefore spilling her own shame for all to see.

Upon hearing her words, Nathyrra gave Jen a look that was both surprised and furious. "He could be anywhere," she reasoned, trying to keep her voice even and calm; nothing could disguise the tight curtness that was evident, however. "When he's in this kind of mood, everyone needs to be on their guard; he could do untold damage if we're not careful."

"Then at least allow me to speak to him," Jen replied, her attempt to stand up thwarted as Xen'shai's hand left his forehead and grasped her wrist.

"Vel'bol uri'shoelt?" he mumbled, his eyes now closed once again. "Jiv'undus..."

"Lie... Ulnar suust... ol jal right – uh, ditri... ditronw..." the half elf replied in broken drow, trying to wrack her brains to bring forth the little learning Nathyrra and the drow male lying before her had afforded her during their rest periods, whilst the confused, almost timorous quality to the usually confident Deathsinger's voice cut through Jen to her compassionate core.

"Jenalil?" Xen'shai almost groaned. "zhah nindel dos?

"Siyo," Jen near whispered in reply as his hand tightened around her wrist.

"Bel'la l'Senger... Usstan ssiggrin dos zhahen natha wussrun'wa," he murmured, trying to smile but in the end grimacing as his facial muscles contorted painfully.

"Usstan xuat kampi'un..." Jen shook her head apologetically. "My drow isn't good enough yet..."

"It will be," the Deathsinger whispered, pulling her hand closer to him. "It will be. I shall teach you..."

Glancing towards the ceiling, Jen closed her eyes for a second, a flash of exquisite conflict chasing itself across her face as she ran her free hand through her hair, battling with herself as to what to do next, blaming herself for both the drow's injuries and the tiefling's erratic actions.

As if sensing this conflict, Xen'shai wrenched himself from the floor to rest upon his elbows, trying to ignore the stabbing sensation deep within his skull, and regarded her through puffy, bruised eyes, the blood on his face now drying to form a russet mask of gore.

"You told him," he whispered, allowing a hint of bitterness to creep into his tone as his memory pieced together what had occurred. "You told the Errdegah-chath..."

"No!" Jen replied with more vehemence than she intended. "No... I didn't. He... he obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion..." glancing at the door, she watched as Nathyrra shook her head and left. "I never... I don't know why... I just..."

Hanging her head as her insides sank, the half elf trailed off.

"His jealousy knows no bounds..." Xen'shai continued, his voice low. "It is not you I blame..."

Feeling something twist involuntarily deep within herself at this assumption, the half elf shook her head. "No, it's not... it's not jealousy; it's... he's... he swore... he thought you... I..."

Reaching up to touch the rogue's blood smeared cheek, the Deathsinger opened his eyes once more. "I would never hurt you," he swore solemnly. "Never..."

He then sank back to the floor.

Allowing a confused sigh to escape her, Jen covered her eyes briefly with one hand, completely at a loss as to what to say before she glanced around herself, all of a sudden acutely aware that she was surrounded by drow males, all of whom were watching her intently. Feeling her cheeks flush, she quickly shuffled back, pulling her wrist from the bard's grasp.

"Tsabandiir – do you think it is worth another spell?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Shaking his head, the Darkmask regarded her disdainfully. "His wounds are healed – the pain will subside quickly. Head wounds are... notoriously difficult," he responded in heavily accented but perfect Common, his tone dripping with barely concealed contempt. "He will have a headache for an hour or so and he will have to suffer the disgrace of a pair of impressive black eyes, but that is all."

Nodding, Jen thanked Tsabandiir before standing up.

"Jallil d'Ssussun-" Xen'shai began, but the half elf cut him off before he could finish.

"I'll be back in a moment," she said a little distractedly as she stepped towards the door, leaving the drow in the room to share a single, knowing look before they once again fixed their attention upon the bard laying on the floor.

o0o

Barging into Rizonym who, as the last one to enter the room, was still in the doorway, Valen strode into the corridor before stopping. His departure had been an entirely instinctual one; breathing heavily, the tiefling leant despondently against the pitted, cold plaster of the wall and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperately trying to banish the demon back to the prison constructed entirely from his own will within his mind, but his almost overwhelming desire to do the Deathsinger more harm made this almost impossible; the demon kept fighting back, reminding him of the drow's crimes, whether they be real or imagined - an act that succeeded stoking not only his forever present infernal wrath, but also an anger that was very human in origin.

He had no idea how long he had spent trying to calm his breathing when he heard the unmistakeable click of a door opening; glancing up, the Weapon Master found Nathyrra striding towards him, a grim look upon her sharp features, her fists clenched.

"What in the hells are you playing at?" she hissed angrily as the tiefling regarded her guardedly, not wishing to lose his temper with the assassin as well. "Whilst I would be the first to admit to harbouring similar desires to do that smug bastard harm, exactly what in the Dark Maiden's name were you thinking?!"

Taking a deep breath, Valen tried to rationalise his actions as he studied his bloodied knuckles before shaking his head in frustration, completely at a loss as to where to begin explaining exactly what it was that the Deathsinger had done to earn his ire in this way, mainly due to the simple truth that he was having difficulty in rationalising it to himself, let alone to anyone else.

Pursing her lips as her own temper rose, the assassin folded her arms over her chest and simply stared at the tiefling, but it was futile; he had thrown up his walls, and until he was ready, she knew nothing would drag his reasoning out of him; sneering silently to herself, Nathyrra leaned almost nonchalantly against the wall beside her, knowing that her own reserves of patience vastly outweighed those of the Weapon Master's, all the while staring levelly at him.

This time, however, the tactic did not work; the tiefling just stared back, his jaw stuck out belligerently as his mind turned wildly, trying to think of an excuse that would explain his behaviour without compromising any of his own integrity with regards to the vast, tumultuous jumble of long-forgotten emotions the half elven wench so inexplicably - and annoyingly - stirred within himself. Suddenly, the tiefling snapped his head up as his demon roiled briefly through him, complaining about the uncomfortable touch of a presence diametrically opposed to its own, causing a fierce desire to do it harm to flaring up for a split second with frightening ferocity before he buried it deep within himself once again.

Seeing the Weapon Master react in such a way, Nathyrra turned her head, expecting to see someone in the corridor; instead, she was met with the sound of a latch being unfastened and nothing more. Glancing at Valen, she frowned a little to herself, now truly more than a little concerned for his mental state, her attention only being diverted as Jen slipped from her room looking drawn and upset, a bloody smear dried upon one cheek, her eyes ringed with red.

Regarding both of them silently, the half elf wrapped her arms around herself before looking shamefacedly at the floor; glancing from both the half elf to the now stern-looking tiefling and back again, the perspicacious drow offered them both a shrewd look as she kicked herself from the wall.

"Okay; what's going on..." she began a little suspiciously, making sure her question was not directed at either one of them.

Shaking her head, Jen simply shrugged her shoulders, carefully avoiding eye contact with the assassin.

"I need to talk to Valen."

"I don't need to talk to you," the Weapon Master countered as he drew himself up to his full height and folded his arms over his chest aggressively, taking refuge in open hostility... and feeling his heart sink involuntarily as the half even female's brows drew together in bewilderment and hurt at his mordancy.

Feeling suddenly very uncomfortable being in the middle of this exchange of decidedly abstruse sentiments, Nathyrra decided that this was her cue to leave; as she went past the half elf, however, she did offer her a light touch upon the shoulder, which Jen received with a small, but undeniably grateful, smile.

Watching as the drow left the corridor and re-entered her room, both half elf and tiefling stared at the floor for a moment, each one unwilling to begin. Finally, Jen sighed in resignation and looked up at the scowling Weapon Master.

"I just knew you would do something like this," she began quietly. "I knew you would. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have come back. I wish I had never told you anything."

Hearing the accusation in her voice, Valen winced inwardly.

"He had it coming."

"That's not the point!" the half elf exclaimed as loudly as she dared, her exasperation at the tiefling's obstinate intractability now plain. "The point is it's not your business! I would have dealt with it; we've got to be able to work together – all of us – and that isn't going to happen if you go around half-killing our supposed comrades each time they look at one of us askew!" She paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I'm not even going to pretend that I know what you were thinking in there... but whatever it was, whatever your reasons – just... don't do it again."

"Oh, right," Valen sneered furiously in reply. "So the next time he tries it on and _doesn't_ stop, I'm just to let that go with a smile and a wave, am I? I can't _do_ that, Jen! I can't stand there and watch him take advantage of you like this!"

"_What's it got to do with you?!_" Jen hissed back, her own confusion finding a conduit in anger. "Why must you resort to violence? Why can't you just leave it to me? Why?"

For a long moment, Valen just stared at her through lowered brows, his exterior stillness hiding the roiling chaos that dwelt within him.

"The Seer appointed me as your guardian, not just as a comrade in arms," he replied eventually, hoping she would not recognise the half-lie. "It was agreed not to tell you. No one else knows – not even Nathyrra. Therefore, any threat to you, whether it is external or from within our own ranks, is by default my business."

Feeling something sink within her at the rational, almost clinical way he explained his actions, Jen took a step back. She was unsure of what she wanted to hear from him, but one thing was certain: this wasn't it. Nodding as she drew her arms tighter around herself, her attention flickered towards the door that hid their companions; sighing in resignation, she stepped backwards again.

"Well, at least I know now," she replied, trying to keep the hint of unfathomable disappointment from her voice. "But it still changes nothing – I don't want you interfering with this. I can deal with Xen'shai." Seeing the look of acute disbelief that flitted across Valen's countenance, her own demeanour hardened. "I know you don't believe me, but I can. Now, we have to work together... and be grateful that no one has happened along this corridor." She turned away from him. "Just... try to see the bigger picture from now on."

"I think I am aware of the 'bigger picture' a little more acutely than you are," the tiefling countered testily. "But if that's the way you want it, then that's the way it'll be played." He paused. "Is that the way you want it?"

Closing her eyes, Jen tried to tell herself that this seemingly innocuous question had one meaning and one meaning alone before answering. "For the time being... yes. I don't need to alienate people, Valen – whether it's you, Nathyrra or Xen'shai. We've got enough to achieve without having to worry about each other. We now need to focus."

Without waiting for his reply, the half elf then made her way to the door and stepped through; sighing and running both his hands over his head so that he grasped the ends of his horns in sheer exasperation as to the whole situation he had found himself in, the Weapon Master followed her, preparing himself to face the Deathsinger once again.

o0o

It didn't take them long to come up with a basic plan; stepping back into the room, Valen's reappearance had been met with a stony silence, the drow male collective obviously closing ranks against him for harming one of their own, but apart from that, everything ran surprisingly smoothly, much to the consternation of the half elf caught in the middle.

Sharing the information Ilfra had given her regarding the rumours that the illithid's Elder Brain was somehow dying – or, indeed, being already dead – Jen glanced towards Deekin, Valen and Rizonym before agreeing; she then told her own tale of what Ixenthraxsis and Jacen had imparted to them the night before. Nodding grimly, Nathyrra had then outlined an idea that she had been nurturing for the last few hours since speaking to the drunken duergar; that if they could confirm the state of the Elder Brain, then maybe it would be prudent to send a message to Lith My'athar where a battalion could be mustered and Zorvak'Mur flattened, thus eliminating not only the alliance, but also any future threat from the illithid themselves.

At this suggestion, both Valen and Jen frowned.

"It could take tendays to sort out a proper assault," the half elf countered. "By that time, half the slaves will be gone – and we promised Ixenthraxsis we'd help her free the incarcerated; in return, she said she'd help us with our fight against the Valsharess. By the time we return, there is a good chance she will no longer be here, and without her, our chance of recruiting any allies also disappears."

"I'm sorry, Jen," Nathyrra countered, "but we can't take on a whole illithid city on our own, regardless of the state of its Elder Brain; it would be tantamount to suicide."

"We'd have the element of surprise-" Jen began earnestly.

"And we have allies in the Pens," Valen added, nodding. "I would say our chances of success are middling to fair. Yes; the illithid have fearsome mental powers, but when it comes down to it, they fall just as easily as any other mortal. Hit hard, hit true and we'll prevail."

"No," the assassin answered, her tone final. "It's too risky. Let's check things out, try to ascertain whether the rumours are true and then decide what to do."

Sharing a look that included Rizonym and Deekin, the four pretend-thralls eventually nodded, albeit reluctantly – even Valen, although he looked like he was being forced to chew a mouthful of wasps whilst doing so.

"Good," Nathyrra smiled grimly. "Then I suggest that we get going. The sooner we accomplish this the sooner we can make a decision and move on." She then looked gravely at each member in turn. "I suppose this is it..."

o0o

Before leaving the relatively safe confines of the tavern, Jehk'ril spent a moment casting the same spell he had the previous day upon the four would-be thralls, whilst the others retrieved their helmets and pulled them over their heads. Arranging themselves into the same formation as before, the small group marched out into the city proper and headed towards what looked like some kind of bazaar, populated entirely by mindflayers.

As they entered, most of the illithid turned to face them, their hideously slimy aspects glistening unpleasantly in the strange turquoise light as they stared blankly at them with milky, almost opalescent eyes before pointedly turning away, the message clear that the little entourage of drow was well below their notice. Only one illithid did not ignore them, although its demeanour was no less disdainful; seeing its interest, Nathyrra sauntered over and began to browse the wares upon the stall it was running before turning to face it.

"Mere trinkets," she sneered haughtily, picking up what was actually a highly enchanted amulet and holding up to the disorientating light. "Have you anything worth my interest?"

Regarding her blankly, the illithid's mental tone was was nevertheless amused.

_I can see you are a discerning customer, _it bubbled. _Maybe this Thayvian circlet is more to your taste? Or how about this Kara-Turian blade?_

"As I said... mere trinkets," the assassin scoffed. "I expected much better quality from Zorvak'Mur than this surfacer rubbish."

_Surfacer rubbish? Please forgive me, but is that not slightly hypocritical considering your choice of thralls?_

"You_ dare_ question me?" Nathyrra demanded. "Continue and I shall soon be thinking about fashioning a new tentacle whip for myself... do I make myself entirely clear?"

_As crystal,_ the mind flayer conceded, its amused tone still firmly in place. _Are you looking for anything in particular?_

"No..." the assassin answered, now sounding bored. "I merely wished to entertain myself until the auction begins."

_In that case, then maybe you might like to consider the pits? _The illithid suggested. _Your tiefling looks like a seasoned fighter – there may be some coin to be made from him, especially if he can face __Qaemtas_'_ half dragon and prevail._

"A half dragon?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "So the rumours are true?"

_Indeed, _the illithid replied._ A fearsome foe, and one that Qaemtas has been gloating over enslaving for a while now. _It's tone all of a sudden grew crafty. _I would actually very much like to see Qaemtas taken down a peg or two with regards to this... if you do enter your tiefling, let me know. That would be a fight I would be interested in witnessing._

Inclining her head, Nathyrra smiled wickedly. "Okay... if that happens, I will let you know."

_Go to the pit and say that Artuur sent you,_ the mindflayer continued. _You should get good odds, especially if you showcase first. _

"Showcase?"

_Let him pick off a few easy marks first, _Artuur said, its mental tone airy. _Let the punters see his prowess. That way you'll get top coin for a real challenge._

"Hmm... thank you, Artuur. You are definitely unlike other illithid I have met... not nearly quite as objectionable." she regarded the mindflayer with interest. "I wonder why that is..."

_I learned a long time ago that profit was to be made in being more... approachable,_ Artuur replied carefully. _It simply works in my favour._

"I see," Nathyrra allowed a trickle of approval to enter her tone. "Maybe you can help me further..."

_At a price, maybe,_ conceded the illithid.

"Indeed." She glanced back to her compatriots. "We may be back later. There may be profit in this this for you yet..."

Artuur inclined its head, lifting its tentacles a little in acquiescence. _I look forward to it, mistress. _

"Then we have an...accord?"

_I think that might be something I would like to consider..._

Smiling to herself, Nathyrra nodded in approval. "Good," she said. "Good..."

o0o

Taking advantage of Artuur's advice, the small group made their way to the gladiator pits. They weren't hard to find; the stench of death and blood hung heavily in the air, and Valen found himself having to take a few deep breaths as his demon lifted its head in interest and sniffed. Lowering his head a trifle, the tiefling sidled up to Nathyrra as surreptitiously as possible.

"Why are we here?" he asked in low tones, not moving his mouth. "I thought we were going to figure out what has happened to the Elder Brain?"

"We are," she murmured back. "This is a place we can gauge how much control the illithid actually have... with so many around, they should be controlling everything; however, if one thrall can break free..."

Glancing down at the diminutive drow female, Valen gave her a brief, cynical look. "You want to pit me out there, don't you?"

"Can you think of a better way to gain an audience with the Elder Brain?"

"If it is dead, that won't work you know..."

Nathyrra allowed herself a small smile. "Exactly. In any normal functioning illithid society, the local Elder Brain would be more than happy to bargain over a prize thrall... so if there is no bargain, I think we can safely say that they are hiding something, yes?"

At this, the tiefling's cynicism turned to grudging respect. "You know, the way your mind works scares me sometimes..."

Glancing up at him, the drow's smile took on an almost impish quality. "Thank you."

The Weapon Master then dropped back so that he was once again walking next to Jen.

"What's going on?" she murmured. "Why are we here?"

"Going to try to bargain an audience with the Elder Brain," he muttered back, making sure he was staring straight ahead as not to draw any attention to themselves.

"How are we going to achieve that?"

"Fight."

Forgetting herself for a moment, the half elf glanced up in horrified surprise. "No," she whispered, dropping her head once more, feeling all of a sudden quite sick. "No, no, no. Those people... they're people we're supposed to be helping, not fighting!"

"No other way," he returned.

"You might get pitted against Ixenthraxsis."

"You don't think I can beat her?"

"I didn't sat that."

"Who said I'm the one fighting, anyway?"

She glanced back up quickly with a slightly contemptuous look on her face, deciding not to answer that particular question with words.

"Okay... it would be me. But this is the best way, believe me."

"I don't like it."

"Well, tough."

"You might get hurt!"

Looking down, the tiefling allowed a slight smile to twist his lips. "Since when did you care about that?"

"Stop changing the subject," Jen replied a little too quickly.

"It'll be fine. I'm sure Ixenthraxsis will be able to fight any compulsion she has to maim me."

"You hope."

"Well, we'll see."

"What happens if she doesn't?"

"Then I fight back."

"Valen..."

"It'll be fine; don't worry," the tiefling stared ahead of himself. "I know how to look after myself."

Giving the floor a worried look, Jen said nothing.

o0o

Striding up to the illithid whom Nathyrra guessed was the pit boss, the drow looked down her nose haughtily and tossed her head back imperiously. "I wish to take part in the proceedings," she queried disdainfully. "I take it this is the correct place?"

The pit boss said nothing as it nodded, waving its tentacles at her a little insolently.

"Well?" she demanded.

_Well what?_ the illithid answered, its answering tone as haughty as Nathyrra's.

"Impudent iblith!" the assassin snapped. "Where do I sign up?"

Pointing over to its left, the mindflayer indicated to stall run by another illithid and a few blank faced thralls. _Over there._

Without thanking it, Nathyrra left and sauntered to the table.

_Yes?_ the mindflayer running the betting stall enquired.

"What do you think?" the assassin growled impatiently. "I wish to place a bet and possibly register a thrall to fight... if it is worth my while."

Nodding, the illithid pushed a piece of paper and a flamboyant purple feather quill towards her.

_You may place your wager here; as for your thrall, write the details here. As an untested combatant, it will be pitted against other untested first; if it is successful, you will then be allowed to enter the more entertaining fights. _The illithid sounded bored. _Will you wager upon your own thrall, should you choose to enter?_

"Of course. What is the point if there is no wager?"

_Fine. What is your wager?_

"An audience with your Elder Brain."

Stopping abruptly, the illithid snapped its head up and froze._ Why would you wager such a thing? _it asked guardedly.

"That is my concern, not yours," Nathyrra answered. "I have a proposition, nothing more."

_A... proposition? _The mindflayer echoed warily. _I... I do not know if that will be possible._

"Really?" the assassin remarked mockingly. "It was possible in S'lorqua."

All of a sudden deciding to keep quiet, the illithid quickly took the now completed paper from Nathyrra's hands and handed it to a thrall, who took it away. Realising that she wasn't going to get anything more from the mindflayer, the drow smiled secretly to herself and went to rejoin the others.

Leading them to a more secluded corner, the assassin pulled Jen to one side to relay her information; seeing the sceptical look that passed over the half elf's face at her news, the assassin just shrugged, reasoning that under usual circumstances, the illithid were only too happy to make such ridiculous wagers, and that their immediate reluctance spoke volumes to her.

The other drow simply nodded in agreement.

"Well, I suppose one good thing comes from all of this," Jen muttered. "No one has to fight."

Looking a little sheepish, Nathyrra glanced to the floor. "Well, to be sure..."

"No," Jen replied emphatically. "We need to avoid fighting those who can help us!

"We're not saving the thralls yet, Jen," the assassin argued. "And if we are to be sure that we won't be granted an audience-"

"No!" Jen repeated. "We have our suspicions – that is enough. Whatever we choose to do next, we're not going to risk any one of us for the entertainment of the illithid. If anything, we should just hole up now and plan our next move."

Hearing a chime over the general bustle of the crowd, the whole group glanced around.

"Pit fights are about to start," Valen murmured.

Swallowing hard, Jen shook her head. "Let's get out of here."

"But we can-"

Folding her arms over her chest, the half elf gave the drow a hard look.

"Now we are here, we may as well go and see what is going on; numbers and the like," Xen'shai chipped in.

"I don't like it," Jen replied stubbornly.

"No one likes it," Nathyrra added, "but whatever happens, it'll be useful. Think of it as an opportunity to gather intelligence."

Feeling rather outnumbered, the rogue looked to Valen.

"Since you're the one who could potentially be fighting; what do you think?"

Nodding grimly, the tiefling glanced over his shoulder to regard the crowd that was assembling around the dome-shaped structure in the middle of the square. "I'll do whatever it takes," he said eventually, "and if that means fighting... so be it." He then refocused his attention upon the small group. "I do think we need to investigate further, though. Let's go."


	29. Duel

_Sorry for the lack of updates this week – we had an Ofsted inspection at work, which basically equals one mad, stressful week with no time to indulge in ones muse, no matter how much said muse whinges about it! _

_Had much more fun with this chapter than the last... hehee, violence rules!_

Chapter 29 – Duel

Weaving their way through the crowds, Nathyrra led her ragtag group to one of the larger viewing portals to see if they could ascertain exactly what was going on. No one was actually allowed inside the dome apart from the slave masters whose thralls were currently engaged in battle; at that current point, the pit was occupied by two illithid who stood opposite each other, each with a blank-faced thrall in front of them bearing blood-stained shortswords. Jen recognised one of them as one of the duergar who had attacked them the night before, but despite his apparent distasteful reputation in he pens, the half elf felt nothing but pity and compassion for him; no matter what he had done, no one deserved this.

Feeling decidedly sick, the half elf opted to wait quietly by Rizonym's side; as a fellow thrall, the two of them didn't garner any interest whatsoever from the other punters, giving her time to think. Seeing her discomfiture, the scarred drow briefly laid a light hand upon the small of her back; glancing up, the drow offered her nothing more than a small nod, but she felt comforted that he had thought of her nonetheless. Taking solace in his calm, quiet dignity, she looked up to see the rest of her comrades all huddled around a viewing portal, looking serious and talking quietly amongst themselves.

Suddenly there was another chime, and everything fell deathly silent; this was followed by a huge roar from the watching non-illithid contingency as the first pit fight commenced. Regarding the bloodthirsty rabble with a distinct air of open contempt, the illithid watched the battle with a sense of detached interest, the only hint at any kind of excitement being the occasional waving of tentacles. Another roar intermingled with groans then heralded the end of the fight a few meagre minutes later; taking a moment to glance over Nathyrra's head, the half elf saw that the duergar had prevailed; leaping atop the human he was fighting, he hacked viciously at his neck with his cruel looking blade. Recognising the human as the emaciated specimen that had shared Rizonym's pallet the night before, Jen paled considerably and felt her gorge rise as the dwarf finally succeeded in removing his foe's head with a final, almost glutinous gout of heart's blood and brandished the decapitated article triumphantly to the baying crowd before dropping it from his slack hand as his illithid master reasserted complete control over him once again.

"Boss..." Deekin whispered. "Deekin doesn't like this. Deekin thinks we shoulds get out of here. This place not healthy."

Nodding almost imperceptibly with her mouth set into a flat, hard line, the half elf could only agree.

o0o

There were four more fights before a ripple of consternation and excitement made its way through the crowd; four more fights of bloody carnage and wanton violence that would stay with Jen for a long time afterwards before there was any indication that something somewhere had gone terribly wrong.

_The dragon's gone mad..._

At first, Jen didn't understand what was being said, but slowly she pieced together the information from her very rough grasp of pigeon drow; her heart sinking in abject fear when she realised that they could only be talking about Ixenthraxsis, the half elf sidled carefully over to Valen and clutched at his arm.

"What's going on?" she whispered. "What are they saying about Ixenthraxsis?"

Shaking his head slightly, the tiefling swallowed hard. "They're saying she's gone mad; I'm assuming that means she is refusing to fight... or has turned on her master."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"No, Jen - it's a bad thing. If it's true, there is a good chance she'll be tortured – maybe even executed if she's embarrassed her master enough – simply for fun."

Feeling all the colour drain from her face, Jen glanced up at the Weapon Master. "What can we do?"

Setting his jaw, Valen glanced down at her. "I can fight her. If we can tell her - let her know it's a ruse – then we might be able to get her out of this..."

Pulling himself from her suddenly tightening grasp, the tiefling stepped forwards to murmur something into Nathyrra's pointed ear. At first, the drow shook her head, but after turning and seeing the look of grim determination upon Valen's face, she nodded slowly; stalking ahead, the drow led the Weapon Master to where the pit boss was located without a backwards glance and a determined air about her.

It took all of Jen' self restraint to stop herself from running over to them and demanding that they stopped; that the ruse had gone too far now, and none of this was worth getting killed over. Whilst she had no doubt that the tiefling could handle himself in any given situation, she still couldn't help but fear for his safety, not to mention his ability to keep his unpredictable rage completely under his control. Standing with her fists clenched in worry and frustration, she felt someone rest a hand upon her shoulder; forcing herself not to jump and relax as much as she possibly could, she glanced from the corner of one eye and saw that it was Xen'shai, his bruised features betraying nothing.

"Jenalil..." he murmured, "I'm afraid to say that you are not doing a very good job of being a thrall. I have heard a few worrisome whisperings; I suggest that we seek somewhere a little more... covert."

He then tugged her back gently, trying to lead her away from the pits, a move that she resisted.

"No," she replied through gritted teeth. "This has gone too far. I don't know what Nathyrra is thinking... she should be stopping this. This shouldn't be happening!"

"The lessons in leadership and having absolute power over your minions are lessons that are never forgotten, nor truly relinquished," the Deathsinger whispered. "She is a acting as a drow female would in this situation, nothing more. There is little you can do now – we walk a treacherous path, and it is best that you bury your emotions down deep for the time being and play your role, otherwise this could go very, very wrong indeed."

"It already has gone wrong," Jen muttered.

"If you will excuse the appalling use of grammar: things could easily go wronger, believe me. Come on; follow me."

Unable to do anything else but comply given her current circumstances, Jen took in an angry breath and trailed after the Deathsinger, who led her to a quietly secluded corner; turning towards the crowds, he then deliberately all but shielded the half elf from the eyes of others.

"Let them do what they have to," he murmured under his breath so that only the surfacer behind him would hear. "I am sure that as foolish as they are being, everything will eventually turn to our favour."

Snorting lightly, Jen glanced moodily towards the wall, a small glint of steel glittering in her eyes. Coming to a decision, she then checked to make sure Xen'shai's attention was firmly fixed in front of him before muttering the words of an invisibility spell under her breath; with a short, convoluted gesture, she then ran her hands over her arms and silently discharged the spell, causing her to disappear from view.

Retreating even further into the corner, she sidestepped lightly from the Deathsinger and crept carefully away, keeping to the walls so that no one would accidently tread upon her and therefore break her deception. It wasn't that difficult; the general din of the boisterous crowd meant that even if she hadn't decided to be careful, the chances of anyone noticing her anyway were slim to none, but since it always paid to be cautious on the off chance that someone was paying attention, she drew upon all her previous tutelage as a militia-trained scout to ensure her passing was as an invisible shadow and made her way back to the dome.

o0o

Allowing the drow female to lead him, Valen kept his countenance passive and his ears sharp. From up ahead, he heard an unmistakeable roar; since no other creature currently within the city could even come close to such a deep, feral snarl, he guessed that its source was none other than Ixenthraxsis herself.

Arriving at the desk, Nathyrra glared at the pit boss whilst the tiefling deliberately held himself in such a way that emphasised his sheer bulk, his face, though carefully blank, still clearly communicating a glowering air of menace that was carefully weighed to make him seem as intimidating as possible.

The illithid, who had seen such displays a thousand times before, just regarded them passively, looking thoroughly bored.

_Yes?_ it drawled as it regarded them slowly.

"I have heard the half dragon is fighting. That is the fight I wish to enter my champion for."

Sparing the Weapon Master slightest of glances, the mindflayer nodded, weighing up the potential spectacle of such a battle in its own mind.

_Yes... come through and prepare. _It then gestured to now open gate, but said nothing more.

Stalking through the gate with her head held high, Nathyrra was glad of her obscuring helmet as self doubt suddenly assailed her. Was this the right thing to do? Was this the way forward? Should she have refused? Swallowing hard, a small part of her chastised herself for such thoughts; once upon a time, she would never have entertained such doubts, but since joining the Seer's crusade and having everything she thought stable in her life brought into question, she had found herself questioning her actions and motivations time and time again. Wishing fervently that she could have the opportunity to discuss their next course of action with the Weapon Master, she closed her eyes briefly and took in a deep cleansing breath; too late now...

Rounding a corner, she was faced with a set of stairs leading downwards. Without hesitating, she strode onwards and found herself in a large room, its walls adorned with battered looking shields and weapons of varying size and type: the preparation room. Turning to Valen, the assassin nodded, indicating that he should select something, and was not surprised when he reached up and hefted a rusted, heavy looking flail from a bracket on the wall. Lashing it out with a practised flick of his wrist, the tiefling raised a sardonic eyebrow before smoothing his features carefully into a blank mask once again as three strange illithid entered.

Suddenly, there was another bone-chilling roar and the screech of steel clashing against steel from the direction in which the mindflayers had entered, followed by an exultant cry from the audience above.

_A challenger? _one of the illithid enquired, it's tentacles writhing a little as it regarded Valen, taking in his height and stature. _Good... a real challenge rather than a simple blood bath. This should be interesting... _It then turned to face Nathyrra. _Have you been briefed?_

Shaking her head, the assassin indicated that she hadn't.

_It is simple_, the illithid continued. _You are to be present as your thralls fight; first one to yield – or indeed, die, loses._

Glancing towards Valen, who was now carefully staring blankly at the wall opposite, Nathyrra nodded.

"Are all the fights to the death?" she enquired, forcing herself to sound as calm and haughty as possible.

_Not always_, the illithid answered. _Although those that are inevitably bring in the best crowds... and the best coin._

"I see."

There was another screeching roar from ahead, causing Nathyrra to look up.

_They are ready for you_, the second mindflayer communicated, it's curiously emotionless mental voice only adding to the drow female's doubt and anxiety.

Feeling her heart suddenly leap into her throat, the assassin just nodded sharply and strode forwards, the Weapon Master following obediently at her heels.

o0o

"So, the rumours seem to be true... a half dragon, no less. How interesting. Jenal... oh, _uoi'notan_!"

Xen'shai turned around to comment to the half elf, only to find the corner in which he had secreted her empty; cursing the blinkered view his helmet afforded him, he began to scan the crowds frantically, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of chestnut hair or midnight blue clothing.

Much to his utter dismay, the Jallil d'Ssussun was simply nowhere to be seen.

Marching forwards, the Deathsinger made his determined way over to where the others were waiting, still huddled around the viewing portal; bending over, he then grasped Deekin by the front of his vest and dragged the kobold up to his face.

"Where has she gone?!" he demanded in a low hiss, taking his uncertainty and annoyance at the half elf's ability to slip away from him unnoticed out on the little bard.

Shaking his head and regarding him through widened eyes, Deekin stuttered an answer. "W... who? Deekin doesn't know who Xen'shai refers to..."

"You know damn well who I'm talking about!" the Deathsinger fumed. "You know everything she does... what did she have planned?"

Looking bewildered, the kobold to shake his head. "Deekin guesses Xen'shai is referring to mighty Boss, but Xen'shai would be mistaken; Deekin doesn't know everything Boss does. Why does he ask? Has Xen'shai lost Boss?"

The innocence in which the kobold asked this question caused the drow bard to snort and all but throw Deekin to the ground, in turn causing everyone else to regard the Deathsinger curiously.

"Is everything all right, dalninuk?" Jehk'ril enquired quietly. "You're acting a little... discomfited."

Clenching his teeth, Xen'shai shook his head curtly.

"Jenalil has... disappeared," he muttered under his breath, his words for his brother and his brother alone.

Offering the Deathsinger a surprised yet oddly significant look, the drow mage surreptitiously glanced around himself as if searching.

"What do you mean?" he murmured back eventually. "I know you were planning to take her to one side and speak with her-"

"And I never got the chance!" Xen'shai interrupted. "She was annoyed and concerned at how things are turning out... at Nathyrra allowing the Errdegah-chath to fight in what she sees as a reckless, meaningless way-"

"And so you decided to try to get her to see it from the point of view that anything that could potentially eliminate that particular threat to your little plans can only be a good thing... just not in so many words, hmm?"

Scowling at his half brother's taunt and amused expression, the Deathsinger held back the urge to clip him around the ear for his insolence.

"No, I did not," he hissed back indignantly. "I just explained that these things come naturally to the drow and that Nathyrra probably doesn't even realise what she is doing could be considered in any way inappropriate... I then turned to the crowd so I would not be seen conversing at length with a thrall for merely a moment before turning back-"

"And she was gone?" Jehk'ril interrupted.

Xen'shai nodded grimly.

"She is more resourceful than we give her credit..."

"I know. It is something I seem to be learning the hard way, and I will admit that I am not particularly liking the lesson."

"So where do you think she went?"

Xen'shai shrugged. "Who knows... probably to find Nathyrra to convince her to stop any potential pit fight involving Valen, I would imagine."

"Well... what are we going to do? If she's caught, we're in serious trouble."

"I know!" the Deathsinger sighed irritably, "but what can we do? We can look for her, yes, but short of that, we'll just have to see how things play out... and be prepared for whatever stupid, ill-conceived plan she is currently engaged in." He then turned to the others. "Be on your guard... I fear our dear half elf has decided to take matters into her own hands. I have no idea what she has planned... so be ready for anything."

o0o

Slowing her pace to a rather more sedate walk, Nathyrra allowed Valen to draw level with her.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered almost apologetically, glancing in his direction. "Whatever your reasons..."

Valen shook his head and replied grimly. "Yes, I do. Ixenthraxsis wants to free the slaves and Jen and I agreed to help her – I'm not about to go back on my word-"

"Being recklessly noble isn't going to win you any points, you know," the assassin interrupted. "Our primary mission is to break this alliance-"

"And that's my main goal, too," the tiefling replied, a little testily. "Helping the half dragon is just a bonus – especially since she has hinted she would be willing to help our cause if we help her."

From the sanctuary of her helmet, the assassin gave Valen a long, calculating look. "Of course," she said eventually, keeping her voice carefully neutral, deciding to keep her actual thoughts as to his true motivations to herself for the time being.

Cresting the ramp that lead up to the fighting pit proper, the drow and the tiefling were faced with the spectacle of Ixenthraxsis on her knees in front of a rather stern looking illithid whose tentacles were fixed rather painfully upon the half dragon's head. Nearby lay the dead body of another mindflayer, its head ripped clean from its body, its vital fluids seeping thickly into the dark grey sand that covered the arena floor. At first, Nathyrra thought that they were too late; that the paladin's master had decided that enough was enough and that it was going to feed upon her, but as the half dragon's snarls lessened, she then realised that it was actually the opposite; the illithid was actually desperately trying to reassert control over its powerful thrall in the most direct manner possible in preparation for another fight.

Moving to stand in front of the assassin, Valen stood with his feet apart and his borrowed flail in both hands, ready for whatever should happen next. Feeling his heart quicken as the illithid in front of them disentangled its tentacles from Ixenthraxsis' skull, he watched as the half dragon stood up, a glassy cast to her bright copper eyes as she brought a massive, notched greatsword to bear and roared.

Answering her challenge with nothing more than a sneer, the tiefling began to pace a little sideways, deepening his breathing as he fought his own predictably climbing rage down to manageable levels, acutely aware that whilst this fight had to look real, his main aim was to break the psychic hold the mindflayer had upon her and...

Grinning a little manically to himself, the Weapon Master was then forced to admit to himself that apart from helping the half dragon, he hadn't really thought through the next stage of his plan; he had some vague notion that somehow they would all be sent back to the slave pens after fighting where they could hatch the next part of their plot much to the general appreciation of... all, but now he was actually in the ring facing the paladin, what had seemed such a simple idea now suddenly felt very complicated indeed.

Still, no matter: too late now...

With another roar, Ixenthraxsis suddenly charged, her head lowered so that her sharp horns were brought to bear, her greatsword held easily in one hand above her. Although Valen had faced far more intimidating visions in his career as a soldier in the Blood Wars, he felt far more daunted by the half dragon than anything he had ever faced before; if his goal had been to kill her, then all would be fine – but to subdue her... that was another matter entirely.

Growling his own defiance, the tiefling held his ground as long as he dared before diving sideways, giving the half dragon a quick warning kick to her shoulder as she charged past. Hearing her snort, he rolled as he landed so that he faced her once again; seeing the paladin snap her head around and take in a huge breath, Valen guessed straight away what her next course of action would be and tensed.

Standing tall, the half dragon opened her jaws wide and breathed out a long, thin jet of a greenish-yellow acid that dispersed dangerously upon contact with the air, forcing the tiefling to leap sideways once again as it struck the sand where he had been standing; where the acid landed, the sand spat and bubbled, melting into a siliceous soup that quickly hardened into a dirty-looking lump of vitreous glass. Whipping her head around, Ixenthraxsis then caused her fine spray of corrosive fluid to lash out almost like a bejewelled whip, and no matter how much Valen tried to dance out of its reach, a few of the scorching droplets met his skin and began to smoke, immediately eating away at his flesh.

Screaming with rage and pain, the tiefling dropped to another roll, hoping to use the sand to scrape away the now jellified acid that burnt viciously into the meat of his shoulder. Coming up breathing hard, it was his turn to roar as he ran headlong at the half dragon; cannoning into her using his good shoulder as leverage, he attempted to tackle her legs out from underneath her and dump her on to her back and therefore incapacitate her.

Opening her jaws once again and taking in another huge, gulping breath as she prepared to breathe once again upon the flame-haired demon that assailed her, the draconic paladin screeched as her horned foe ran into her at full pelt, his strength far more than she would have expected from his size. He aimed for her legs and, unable to keep her balance against his onslaught, she fell heavily to the floor as her greatsword clattered from her hand, her breath knocked out of her, meaning her breathweapon was momentarily useless to her. Instead, she tried to roll away from him as he tried to grapple her to the ground, all the while hissing something at her... hissing a name she vaguely remembered.

"Ixenthraxsis!"

Shaking her head violently, the half dragon let out a furious roar and lashed out with one viciously clawed hand, hoping to rake her talons across her enemy's face and blind him; instead, he thrust his own, curiously sharp-nailed hand into her hair and jerked her head up to meet his. Hissing as a sharp, excrutiating pain exploded across her scalp, she tried to scrabble at the demon; feeling her claws snag into his skin and the soft, warm kiss of his blood as it sprayed almost delicately upon her exposed arms, a small part of her was surprised that he withstood her assault stoically and began to take notice of what he was actually saying as he continued to wrestle her, his surprising strength matching hers.

"Ixenthraxsis!" he hissed. "Listen to me! _Ixenthraxsis!_ Stop this!_"_

Drawing back his arm, the tiefling punched down almost reluctantly, his determination to break the psychic enchantment over the half dragon the only thing overriding his revulsion at having to attack her... and his revulsion at how much the demon within wanted him to stop pretending and fight properly; to rip open her throat with his teeth, to pummel her oddly striking reptilian features to nothing more than a pulp of flesh and splintered bone, to punch through her chest and snatch her heart out from under her ribs and present it to the baying crowd around them.

Feeling her muscles tense beneath him, he tried to prepare himself for whatever else she had in store; using the handle of his flail, he caught her under the chin and leaned his weight upon her scaled throat, trying to force her to yield once and for all. It was futile, however; with a strangled roar, the paladin heaved herself up and swatted him to one side, using her chained wings to aid her.

Staggering up to stand, Ixenthraxsis scooped up her blade and blinked through a mixture of blood that belonged to both herself and the tiefling in front of her before she struck out with a snarl. Raising his flail to deflect the blow, an immense clash rang around the dome as the Weapon Master took advantage of his superior training and kicked out with one foot, catching the half dragon painfully upon her knee.

"Ixenthraxsis! Listen to me!" he repeated as she tried to bear him down again with her sword. "You don't want to fight me! Wake up!" the tiefling pushed back. "_Wake up!_"

This time, the doubts were stronger; the voice was familiar, and the name more familiar still. Shaking her head, Valen saw a flicker of recognition pass over the half dragon's features before she stepped back and lashed out, this time a little clumsily, with her blade; dodging it easily, the tiefling risked closing the distance between them again.

"I know you can hear me!" he hissed. "I know you can... fight it, Ixenthraxsis. Fight it!"

With a roar, the draconic paladin punched out viciously, clipping Valen upon his acid-scored shoulder, making him scream out in agony. She then jumped up and landed heavily upon him, forcing him to the floor. From somewhere, there came a rabid, frenzied shout of what seemed like a thousand voices all screaming in unison as she raised her greatsword above her head, preparing to deal a killing blow.

"Ixenthraxsis... please... don't make me... don't make me release the demon and kill you!" the bleeding tiefling caught beneath her whispered frantically, holding out a beseeching hand to her. "It doesn't have to be this way... just _wake up!_"

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting, almost subsonic boom that shook the very foundations of the city as something vastly powerful exploded outside of the dome.

Whipping her head around, the half dragon frowned slightly as immense cracks appeared in the dome's ultimately delicate structure; feeling the patter of dust upon her head, she glanced up and saw that the roof of the dome was also severely damaged. Taking advantage of her momentary lapse in concentration, Valen grasped Ixenthraxsis' throat and dragged her face close to his.

"Wake UP!" he roared and punched her squarely between her eyes.

Agonising pain erupted within the half dragons skull, causing little bursts of purple and black fire to pop and fizz across her field of vision. All of a sudden, everything swam into focus; the rage she held fleeing as she at last fought free from the illithid's mental hold; looking down, she saw with a creeping sense of dawning horror who she was actually fighting.

"V... Valen! Weapon Master... I am truly, truly sorry!" she exclaimed as she quickly stood up, allowing the tiefling to do the same.

Grinning ruefully, Valen shook his head. "Same here. I never thought you'd snap out of it... I didn't want to have to hurt you, but you left me with no choice." He then glanced towards a rather worried looking illithid, his grin taking on a rather more wicked cast.

"Have you any idea what is going on?"

"None whatsoever," he growled, reaching for his flail. "But whatever it is, let's take advantage of it and deal with your so called master..."

With a nod, both half dragon and tiefling then leapt into action once more; this time, however, their rage was not aimed at each other, but rather the squealing form of the illithid who once dared to call Ixenthraxsis his slave.

o0o

Drifting as silently and as insubstantially as a shadow through the excited crowds, Jen made her way as quickly as she dared and headed for the dome at the centre of the plaza once again. There was a now a distinct air of almost hysterical anticipation to the crowd, and although she didn't know the exact reasons why, she could guess: Ixenthraxsis, the famed half dragon gladiator, had obviously entered the arena and was ready to fight.

Carefully making her way to one of the viewing portals, Jen peered over the heads of a group of duergar to see the half dragon decapitate an illithid with her bare hands; shuddering at such a display of sheer strength and brutality, her horror was nothing compared to what came next.

Striding forward, another illithid flicked out a vicious looking whip that caught Ixenthraxsis across the shoulders, all but paralysing her. As she sank to her knees, the mindflayer stood over her and fixed its tentacles to what seemed to be specific points along her head; at first, the half dragon tried to wrench free, but it was no use – slowly but surely, the illithid gained direct mental control over his thrall as its tentacles physically buried into her flesh, slowly calming the draconic paladin.

It was then that another pair entered the ring.

Feeling her stomach drop and her mouth run dry, the half elf realised that it was Nathyrra and Valen, and that the tiefling had actually been serious in his half-baked plot to save the half dragon. Cursing him mentally for his idiotic, stubborn sense of misplaced nobility, Jen glanced around herself wildly, searching for Deekin and her drow companions, trying to ignore the surge of excitement that ran through the crowd at the promise of two such gladiators clashing for their entertainment.

Finally locating them, she quickly stepped back away from the viewing portal as a viciously excited roar erupted from the crowd, heralding the beginning of the fight, and made her way swiftly to Jehk'ril's side. Seizing his arm, she dragged him backwards, not caring if it looked strange to any onlookers and whispered into his ear.

"Are your spells prepared today?"

"Jenalil?!" the mage whispered back, looking shocked and surprised. "We were worri-"

"Shut up!" the half elf demanded, her desperation to stop the fight overcoming her usually affable demeanour. "Do you have your spells ready?"

"Of course," Jehk'ril nodded. "Why do you as-"

"Be prepared," Jen hissed as she let him go and backed away from him once again.

Cursing in drow under his breath, the mage muttered the incantation for a spell that would allow him to see anyone invisible in the near vicinity; blinking rapidly, he then scanned the crowd, but the half elf was no where to be seen. Running a hand around his now moist collar, he then dove forwards and grasped Xen'shai in a similar fashion to the way Jen had grasped him.

"Jenalil made contact – and I fear she is about to do something very, very foolish indeed..." he whispered.

Turning to regard his brother, the Deathsinger took in his serious, worried expression. "Define 'foolish'."

"I don't know, but she told me to 'be prepared' before disappearing again."

"Idiot! Why didn't you try to dispel her invisibility?"

"I did!" Jehk'ril spat back. "But it didn't work! I've told you before; her magic is far more powerful than it should be... I should be able t-"

Suddenly, from the other side of the dome, there was a massive, rumbling boom and a rush of blistering heat, followed by agonised screams and the stench of burnt flesh.

Everything fell into chaos.

Snapping their heads up, the drow and Deekin were momentarily horrified to see the spectacle of scores of slavers of all races running headlong towards them, some unsheathing weapons, others simply trying to get as far away from the carnage as another huge fireball erupted on the outside of the dome, punching a hole through the delicately constructed building. Unsheathing their own weapons, the drow and the kobold looked desperately for Jen when she suddenly appeared, hovering high above the crowd, a faint corona of light enveloping her. Drawing her arms above her head, she threw out another volley of magical energy, this time manifesting itself as a hail of electrical bolts that targeted specific individuals before arching off to find other victims; letting out a rather ragged gulp, Jehk'ril shook his head and gave his brother an almost bewildered look.

"She shouldn't be able to do that!" he gasped, fumbling in his belt pouch for the components of his own spells. "Even the most accomplished of archmages cannot handle that amount of power... how does she _do_ that?"

Regarding the mage momentarily, Xen'shai simply smiled before drawing out his bizarre flute, preparing to play and lead them all into battle.

"Now can you see it?" he laughed triumphantly. "Now can you see the Shadow's interest? What she holds within her... imagine that in the hands of our Lord! This is why, brother – _this is why!_"


	30. A Brief Candle

_Oh, I'm such a pathetic drama queen... sorry! D_

Chapter 30 – A Brief Candle

Positioning herself directly in the middle of the crowd of watching slavers, Jen glanced around herself before closing her eyes and calling to the deep well of arcane power she held deep within her slight frame. She never had truly understood where her magical energy came from; no one had yet been able to explain her ability to manipulate raw power from within herself with nary a word to bring it forth, although this was not through a lack of trying. In the past, she had learned some spells the rather more traditional way that would aid her; simple incantations such as how to turn herself and others invisible for short periods of time, how to slow a fall so that she floated as lightly as a feather and therefore would not hurt herself and the ability to illuminate objects so that she could use them to guide her in dark places, but the sheer destructive elemental force she could call forth from within herself and manipulate to mimic a vast range of devastating evocation spells was something vastly different to these tamed spells – it was something wild, instinctual and very personal to herself.

Such power, however, did not come for free, and as she felt the familiar warm upswelling of energy from the region of her stomach, she closed her eyes briefly and took in a deep breath, steeling herself for the inescapable toll she was about to pay for being able to wield such a deleterious force.

As the warm, almost seductive tendrils of arcane energy travelled along her arms and up the sides of her neck, the half elf felt her feet leave the ground; allowing herself to be buoyed by nothing more than her building elemental power, she glanced down at the crowds below her and whispered just one word to the slaves below that were inevitably going to be sacrificed for the greater good.

"Sorry..."

The creeping sensation grew as the elemental forces enveloped her head, causing her hair follicles to tingle, almost pleasantly at first, but the longer she held on to the energy, the more it built and the hotter it became; gritting her teeth as she felt the skin on her hands begin to blister, the half elf closed her eyes and bowed her head, trying to concentrate upon her breathing and ignore the pain that was now erupting along her arms as her blood all but boiled within her veins; drawing them around herself, she then prepared for her first strike.

Suddenly, Jen snapped her head up and opened her eyes wide, her once soft, hazel orbs now glowing a bright green-gold as she flung her arms wide and released the unbearably hot ball of pure elemental energy she had been nurturing, aiming for the side of the dome that housed the battling tiefling and half dragon, hoping that the seemingly delicate structure would crumble under her onslaught.

There was an ear-splitting crack as the ball of power detonated, the initial explosion causing spidery cracks to appear upon the dome's surface, the backwash of blistering, crackling flame engulfing the unsuspecting crowd in an instant, leaving many dead and even more gravely injured. It took the crowd a while to realise what had happened; by the time the second, massively devastating fireball erupted in their midst, however, the screaming started and chaos broke loose.

Glancing down as she allowed another, agonisingly recalescent sphere of arcane energy to gain in power, she felt a sharp stab of dismay and distress at the number of slaves she had struck down, unable as she was to distinguish friend from foe at this current time. Deciding to change her tactic slightly, she closed her eyes briefly and fought the nature of the energy called forth, manipulating into something she could at least attempt to target individuals with - balls of chain lightening that would seek out slavers and strike them down where they stood. Holding out her now blackened, blistered arms, she drew them close and all but ripped the electrical energy from the centre of her chest, the violence of her conjuration lending the spell even more energy; it was then that she tasted an all too familiar coppery tang in her mouth, the price of her cataclysmic abilities now beginning to present its inevitable bill as it used her own blood and life-force to fuel itself.

Aware that she was now balancing upon the edge of an incredibly dangerous knife, she fought for supremacy over the power that threatened to consume her completely; feeling it build once again, she felt the customary yet inexplicable sensation that whilst the energy was inexorably hers, it was also a separate entity in its own right, and that she was simply a mere shell built to contain it. Shaking her head abruptly as the elemental forces took hold of her and rained down shards of ice upon the now panicked, fighting crowds below, she fought back for control over her own body, but it was too late. Coughing, she felt something warm and sticky dribble from her mouth and drip from her chin as her body began to smoulder; with a scream, she felt her whole being ignite as a bright wave of pure, unfettered energy exploded from her, incinerating those below.

She then fell limply from the sky and knew no more.

o0o

It had taken Ixenthraxsis and Valen a mere moment to dispatch the half dragon's former illithid master; by the time Nathyrra had run to help them, the creature was nothing more than a bloody lump of bone and gore upon the floor. It had tried to use its psychic abilities upon both of them but had failed; whether it had been due to their own sense of fury or due to the mindflayer's possibly weakened powers, neither the tiefling nor the half dragon could tell, but as they lashed out as one with their borrowed weapons, neither one cared much either.

Hearing another crackling boom detonate outside, Ixenthraxsis glanced nervously to the roof. "I don't think this structure will survive another volley like that. Whoever is hurling spells around is powerful indeed," she nodded to Nathyrra and Valen. "The slave pens are connected to this area; many gladiators are currently held below. We should free them."

"I'm going up," the Weapon Master replied grimly, drawing Devil's Bane from the bag of holding the assassin had presented to him. "You and Nathyrra free the other slaves – I'm going to find out what's going on."

With that, he turned heel and ran towards the sounds of battle with nary a backwards glance.

"Valen!" Nathyrra called out before rolling her eyes and sighing heavily. "That's not much of a strategy..."

Shaking her head ruefully, the half dragon clapped a companionable hand lightly upon the drow's shoulder. "He's quite... impetuous, isn't he?"

"You don't know the half of it," Nathyrra replied with another sigh before gesturing towards the tunnel that led to the holding pens. "Shall we?"

"Indeed," Ixenthraxsis nodded, a determined look upon her face. "Let us end this once and for all."

o0o

Running through the preparation room, Valen was faced with a small group of slaves looting the weapons from the walls. Instinctively, he brought Devil's Bane to bear, readying himself for conflict, but instead the slaves just nodded to him, recognising him from the pens the night before.

Realising they were potential allies, the tiefling strode forwards. "What's going on up there?"

One of the humans – a powerfully built male – stepped forwards. "I'm not entirely sure... one minute everyone was watching the fight, then the next, all hell broke loose when a mage let loose some kind of massively empowered fireball."

"Did you see who it was? The mage?"

The man shook his head. "No... it's chaos out there. No one knows who is friend or foe, and so everyone is attacking everyone else. I've never seen anything like it."

Nodding in grim thanks, the tiefling began to make his way back out to the city proper; he had seen its like before, just not on this Plane...

Stepping out from the close confines of the corridor, Valen was forced to duck almost immediately as a throwing axe sailed past him at head height; unsure as to whether it was actually aimed at him or not, the Weapon Master dropped into an almost predatory crouch, clutching Devil's Bane with both hands. Glancing around himself, he tried to locate his allies, but the slave below was correct; it was simply chaos, with slavers, illithid and slaves fighting each other equally in sheer panic, the stench of burnt flesh and blood almost too much to bear.

Hearing another explosion to his right, the tiefling whipped his head around but could not see anything; obviously whoever was throwing fireballs around was invisible, and not being particularly discriminating about their targets. Running forwards, Valen almost absent-mindedly swatted aside a drow slaver who foolishly jumped in front of him as he continued his search. Suddenly, there was a blindingly bright flash from far above his head; looking up, the tiefling was met by the sight of an eerily familiar figure wreathed in writhing flames seemingly wrestling with something caught between her hands before she threw it to the ground, whereupon it detonated with a force that caused the very rock beneath his feet to vibrate; realising quickly that it was Jen, he felt something within him surge upwards at her display of raw power.

Below her, two slaver mages began the familiar hand gestures that heralded a casting; grunting slightly in alarm, Valen brought his flail to bear and charged, hoping to disrupt whatever it was they were planning to send the half elf's way. He was too late, however; before he could reach them, they both hurled their spells – from the hands of one leapt forth a crackling stream of coruscating black energy, from the other, purple sparks spat as a hail of glowing orbs streaked unerringly towards her. Deciding there was little else he could do but continue with his course of action, he watched in impotent horror as the spells hit Jen squarely in the chest... and dissipate to almost nothing as whatever it was she had enchanted into the flames that enveloped her body simply absorbed the energy, causing them to flare briefly before she dropped another spell of her own, this time a hail of massive icicles that rained down onto the main fray below.

With a roar, the tiefling smashed Devil's Bane down as hard as he could in a wide arc, hoping to encompass both slavers with one swoop. Neither one had been expecting him, and so had no chance; even the curiously stone-textured skin of the drow mage held no protection for the sheer fury of his attack. Watching in grim satisfaction as both mages sank to the ground, he felt something slimy graze the back of his neck; snapping his head around, he was faced with the blank, tentacled face of an illithid. Obviously confident in its own abilities to stun him, the mindflayer reached out with its tentacles and attempted to wrap them around the tiefling's head; growling his defiance, Valen jerked his head back and threw an entirely instinctual punch into the gaping, mucus covered maw that was located beneath the illithid's tentacles; feeling something go crunch as his knuckles connected, the tiefling turned his hand and grabbed one of the writhing appendages before viciously pulling back, tearing it from the mindflayer's alien face. Squealing, the mindflayer backed off and brought its spider-like hands in front of its now ravaged face and threw something Valen could not see but could definitely feel his way, but Jehk'ril's spell thankfully protected his mind from the psionic barrage the illithid was currently subjecting him to; twisting his face into a grin that had nothing to do with amusement, the tiefling swept his flail forwards, buying it deeply into the abberation's chest, before ripping it out and smacking it down upon its now vulnerable head as an almost comical look of surprise flitted across its alien features, undoubtedly caused by the shock of a thrall race not only shaking off its attempt to control him, but also being able to take the upper hand and actually attack it.

Hearing a scream from above, Valen extricated Devil's Bane from the skull of his enemy, just to see the spectacle of Jen all but explode; taking in a shocked breath, the whole battlefield seemed to pause as she burned brighter than ever before, culminating in one, vast, deafening eruption of raw arcane power, causing those nearest to her to spontaneously combust.

She then went limp and dropped from the sky.

Feeling his heart leap painfully into his throat, the Weapon Master leapt forwards in an effort to cover the distance between himself and the crumpled form of the half elf as she hit the earth with a dull thud.

Fighting his way through the thick melee that erupted around him once again, Valen ignored the many opportunistic hits that he took from various combatants, slaves and slavers alike. He did vaguely notice that there were no illithid present now; doubting that they were all dead, he surmised that they had probably hidden themselves away somewhere, like rats bolting for their holes – but this fact inexplicably did not bother him.

Ahead of him, laying in a pool of her own blood, was Jen's unmoving body.

The tiefling didn't even take a moment to check her pulse; instead, he quickly scooped her up and slung her unceremoniously over one shoulder so that he could still fend off any potential attackers, but the truth was that everyone was interested in their own little battles to even think about challenging him as he ran past them, seeking out a defensible position from which he could try to revive the senseless half elf.

Reaching the now deserted market place, Valen left the vast majority of the fighting behind him as he ducked down behind a fixed stall and gently laid Jen down. Taking a moment to search for a pulse, he gave a ragged sigh when he felt something sluggishly pulsate against his fingertips; contrary to her appearance, she was not dead.

Yet.

Taking in her blackened, burnt forearms and the bloody mess that was once her chest, the tiefling grimaced as he bent his head to see if she was breathing. Finding that she was not, he quickly propped her head back and explored her mouth with one calloused finger to see if anything was physically obstructing her airway; finding nothing, he withdrew his now bloody digit before pinching her nose and, covering her mouth with his, preparing to share his breath with her, hoping to revive her by force if necessary.

Again and again he breathed into her, trying to will her stubborn body to respire on its own, but to no avail; cursing her and himself in Abyssal, he frantically massaged the massive wound that was once her chest and searched again for her pulse, all the while fighting down the sick, dizzying instinct that she was dying in his arms and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"Breathe, damn you... breathe!" he whispered desperately as he forced her lungs to inflate. "Don't you dare die on me, Jen... _breathe!_"

Jamming his fingers against her neck again, the tiefling felt nothing.

"No... no... Jen... come on!" he growled, aware that his voice was rising to a shout in panic, but doing nothing to stop it as he thumped her chest, hoping to shock her heart into pumping again.

Nothing.

Breathing heavily, the Weapon Master looked down at the bloody, lifeless form of the half elf, his blood singing in his ears as he came to the realisation as the breath he had lent her rattled from her lungs that she was no more.

Jen was dead.

o0o

Hearing Valen's anguished shout, Nathyrra quickly ran towards it, worried that the reckless tiefling had managed to get himself into more trouble than he could handle; instead she found him, after some searching, hunched over something humanoid in shape, although what he was doing, she couldn't quite make out until she had actually drawn level with him.

It took her a few seconds to even begin to comprehend what she was seeing.

Laying on the floor in front of the Weapon Master was the still, pale but bloodied form of their half elven saviour.

"What... what... what's going on here?" she whispered, touching Valen upon his shoulder.

Throwing his arm back violently, and catching the assassin painfully on the chin, the tiefling growled something under his breath before standing up and kicking the stall he had been sheltering behind viciously, dragging a blood-smeared hand across his eyes.

"She's dead."

Regarding him with huge, frightened eyes, the former Red Sister shook her head.

"What?"

"I said she's DEAD!" Valen roared, his tail lashing from side to side furiously.

Unable to take in what he was telling her, the drow dropped to her knees and frantically sought for a pulse, but found nothing.

"No... this cannot be... this is not supposed to happen!" she whispered, dragging her shielding helmet from her head. "How... how did this happen?"

Valen, however, did not answer her; instead, he just stared dourly at the corpse of the half elf, the almost convulsive twitching of his jaw now the only external hint to the emotional turmoil he felt deep within himself.

"I tried... I tried to bring her back," he whispered back eventually, "but it was no use... her injuries were too great."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Nathyrra stood up shakily and backed away from the body of her comrade. "We have to go back to Lith My'athar... the Seer may be able to resurrect her..."

Shrugging his shoulders, the tiefling did not reply.

Hearing a cheer behind them, the both turned around to see ragged looking slaves running triumphantly after the fleeing forms of their former slavers, crude weapons in hand made from whatever had come to hand, whilst the odd fireball still went off in the distance.

Running towards them with a huge grin on his face, Deekin stopped short when he saw their grave expressions.

"Umm, the battle has turned," the kobold commented. "Slavers running away and illithids that likes eating brains nowhere to be seen... dragon lady asks where you is gone, so Deekin comes to find you. Have you seen boss?"

Running a hand over his face, the tiefling said nothing whilst Nathyrra stepped forwards and crouched down by the little bard.

"You boss... Jen... she... she had an accident," she began, at a loss as to how to break the news.

"An accident?" Deekin's former ebullient mood abruptly slipped away. "Boss..."

Creeping forwards, the kobold looked past the assassin the stopped, his yellowish reptilian eyes all of a sudden filled with tears.

"Boss..."

From the direction of the plaza, the rest of the small group began to gather and make their way towards them; cocking her head in wary curiosity, Ixenthraxsis then made her way forwards, followed by Xen'shai.

"The battle has broken up – we were largely victorious," the Deathsinger commented, taking in the shocked demeanour of his companions. "Where is Jenalil?"

Shaking her head, Nathyrra stepped to one side, revealing the scene playing out behind her.

Deekin was now crouched by the body of his beloved friend, his clawed hands gently caressing the blood soaked hair from her pale face.

"Boss..." he crooned, his voice hitching with sobs. "We dids good, boss – we fights the illithid and we wins... we wins because of you..."

"Gi, ssinjin Barra..." Xen'shai breathed upon spying Jen's corpse. "What happened?"

Nathyrra shook her head, "I don't know."

"I saw the explosion... so much energy..." the Deathsinger trailed off, his mind a whirl. "I had no idea. Is that what... killed her?"

Shrugging her shoulders, the assassin turned to Valen, who paused before nodding curtly.

"We have to deal with the illithid," Nathyrra all but whispered. "Then... then we can take Jen back to Lith My'athar."

"The Valsharess..." Xen'shai murmured.

"There's no point in this now the Seer's champion is dead," Valen snapped viciously. "We need to defend Lith My'athar." He then slung Devil's Bane over one shoulder and stalked away.

Making to follow him, Ixenthraxsis stopped when she saw Nathyrra shake her head.

"Leave him," she said quietly before turning her attention back to Jen. "We'll need to move the... we'll need to move her. Let's sort out the illithid and then get going as quickly as possible; hanging around here accomplishes nothing."

o0o

Bundling up Jen's body in a discarded cloak they found upon one of the illithid stalls, Valen insisted upon being the one that carried the mortal remains of their erstwhile saviour, much to Xen'shai's annoyance. Meeting up with the surviving slaves – now no more than forty in number – the tiefling wondered for the first time if the price of their freedom was too great and found it hard to meet their sympathetic yet triumphant faces as they commiserated with the small group for losing one of their own, choosing to keep himself to the outskirts of any such gatherings with Deekin in tow.

Around Zorvak'Mur they found pockets of slavers all attempting to flee; they knew that they could not have killed every single one, and so they resigned themselves to the fact that many of them would have escaped, running off into the wilds of the Underdark; still, that was hardly their worry any more.

Upon hearing the news of Jen's death, Jehk'ril had ruefully shaken his head, reiterating his point that no one should rightfully be able to contain the power the half elf had and be able to use it to the effect she had and live; glowering at him, the tiefling had simply told the mage to shut up, causing Xen'shai to leap to his brother's defence. Before yet another meaningless fight broke out between the Weapon Master and the Deathsinger, Nathyrra had then stepped between the two and given them a both a stern talking to, reminding them that no matter what had happened, they had to work together to eliminate the last of the illithid threat.

Extrapolating that the remaining mindflayers had probably retreated to the spire where their Elder Brain was housed, Rizonym, Deekin and Valen spent a few moments re-adorning their armour whilst the slaves scavenged magical weaponry and armour of their own from the now-abandoned stores. Stepping forth, Maenaran and four other slaves held up wrists that were encircled by heavy-looking manacles; explaining that they were all magic users and that the manacles suppressed their abilities, Tsabandiir was volunteered to be the one to attempt to pick the locks that secured them. Glowering slightly at this, the Darkmask nonetheless complied and after a few moments exploration, the locks clicked and the manacles dropped to the floor. Rubbing his wrists, Maenaran thanked the clerically minded rogue profusely, causing Tsabandiir to sneer at him; glancing back towards Nathyrra with a questioning look, the assassin just shook her head slightly, indicating that he shouldn't worry and that the Darkmask was always like that.

Preparing themselves once again as they approached the base of the spire, Rizonym and Ixenthraxsis pushed open the massive double doors – a feat that would never have been possible had there been a fully functioning Elder Brain in the city, thus adding weight to their theory that it was indeed incapacitated in some way – and as one they all stepped through into a dark and eerily silent chamber.

Creeping forwards, expecting to be assaulted at any moment, they located the central spiral staircase and began to climb carefully, each aware that although the illithid might be essentially beaten, they were still implacable, dangerous foes, especially in larger numbers.

Ducking behind Rizonym and Szinaufein and running down a mental checklist of the spells he had left at his disposal, Jehk'ril muttered the arcane syllables of his last, precious fireball as he fished in his pouch of spell components, readying himself for however many mindflayers they possibly would soon be facing.

Watching through slightly narrowed eyes as Valen carefully set the body of the recently deceased half elf down, the drow mage studied the stoic yet tender look he gave her with interest as he gently pushed her into a secluded corner, ensuring that she was hidden enough from a casual glance but easily retrievable should they have to flee; raising an eyebrow, he decided to squirrel his little observation away should it become useful later... especially since, even though he had been presented with the evidence first hand, he could not quite believe that Jenalil was indeed dead and therefore couldn't shake off the niggling feeling that this was not, as the others seemed to fear, the end as they knew it at all.

Suddenly there was an almost inaudible hiss from the gloom ahead of them; stalking forwards with a distinct air of cautious defensiveness, a good dozen illithid stepped forwards, their hands held out with their palms up in the universal sign that they wished to speak, not fight.

Holding their weapons tightly, the small group and their former slave compatriots watched warily as a slightly taller mindflayer – the leader of this small band, if the circlet that adorned its head was anything to go by – broke away from the others and addressed them all arrogantly.

_Why have you done this? _it bubbled, its tone haughty with a hint of reproach. _You come to our city, kill our citizens and our customers... why?_

Deciding to act as the party spokesperson, Nathyrra met its question with a look of grim determination.

"We came initially to broker an agreement. We wanted you to break your alliance with the drow called the Valsharess," she answered, her voice clear and steady.

_But rather than speaking – negotiating, even – you attack us. We might have been amenable before, but now... why should we withdraw our support on the words of those who would assault us without provocation?_

At this, Ixenthraxsis stepped forwards. "They did this to save the innocents held in your filthy dungeons... to help free the minds of those you would call thralls!" She then stood tall, deciding to gamble all. "We know about your Elder Brain; we know why you struck the deal with the Valsharess in the first place – but has she come to your aid? Zorvak'Mur could be wiped from the face of Toril, and she would not care; she would not lift one finger in your defence!"

Snarling slightly, the illithid's demeanour instantly hardened. _And why should we listen to a thrall? You fought for our pleasure, slave... why should we begin to even consider brokering anything with your filthy, inferior kind?_

"Because you owe this to us!" the half dragon roared. "It is justice! The vile crimes you have perpetrated have caused untold damage to whole communities – families torn apart, people living in constant fear... you should be made to pay for this evil!"

"Ixenthraxsis..." Nathyrra interrupted, attempting to placate the enraged paladin. "Your emotions are clouding your judgement; we wish to solve this as quickly as possible."

Growling behind her, Valen glanced to the corner where he had stashed Jen's body and decided to speak up. "I'm with the dragon," he glowered. "We've lost enough for one day – time to clear out this rat-hole once and for all."

"Not helping, Weapon Master," Nathyrra hissed through gritted teeth.

_I think you've all made your opinions plain,_ the illithid then sneered. _It is a shame that we could not resolve this in any other way..._

As one, the mindflayers then raised their hands and sent an invisible, but fully tangible, barrage of psionic energy towards the small group before they advanced, hoping that their foes were still susceptible to their ability to stun.

Unfortunately for the illithid, this was not the case.

Roaring their fury, both Ixenthraxsis and Valen jumped forwards with their chosen weapons leading, followed closely by Nathyrra, Rizonym, Szinaufein and a couple of the more melee inclined slaves. Holding his spell back, Jehk'ril decided to see how quickly the battle turned to their favour, whilst Xen'shai took a his flute from his belt and began to play, bolstering his allies and helping to keep their minds clear, with Deekin using his crossbow to snipe from the shadows.

Suddenly, there was a bone chilling scream as one of the illithid managed to wrap its tentacles around the exposed head of one of the former slaves; quickly burying its suckered appendages into its unfortunate victim's temples, it then clamped its lamprey-like maw over the slave's face and, after probing his mouth in an almost obscene manner with its muscular tongue, it punched through the roof of his mouth, finding his brain, which it then latched on to and began to pull.

Realising there was no way save its victim, Szinaufein, who was closest, span around and brought his twin blades to bear; sweeping them in a deadly arc, he quickly severed not only the thick, pulsating main artery of the mindflayer, but also that of its prey, killing them both instantly in a violent spray of blood and ichor.

Turning back to the battle, the ranger saw to his dismay that other illithid were now emerging from concealed pods in the walls, and that quite a few of the slaves were standing, stunned by their psionic blasts; it was then that Jehk'ril stepped forwards and sacrificed his last, precious fireball.

He used it in traditional drow style; although he did make the effort to try to avoid his allies, he still caught a few of the catatonic slaves amongst the new onslaught of mindflayers, and both factions burned equally with squeals and shrieks of pain before he was forced to resort to lowly magic missiles.

Although the illithid numbers vastly outweighed their own, the fact that their minds were protected from their primary attacks meant that the melee fighters were able to carve through their ranks quickly; it did not take long before there were only a handful of abberations left. Seeing that they were losing quite spectacularly, the remaining illithid dropped to their knees, hoping that they would be spared, but both Valen and Ixenthraxsis were in no mood for mercy; bringing their weapons down upon the supplicated heads of their octopoid enemies, the tiefling and the half dragon finally struck down the last of the inhabitants of what was once the mighty community of Zorvak'Mur.

Surveying the carnage laid out in front of them, Nathyrra carefully made her way over the blood-slicked floor to speak to – and thank – the remaining slaves, most of whom looked rather shell-shocked at the brutal slaughter they had just been party to. Then, with look of determination, she waited for Valen to retrieve Jen's body; after the tiefling nodded grimly, she turned to regard the ornate staircase that lead to a huge, decorated pair of doors – the entrance to the sanctuary of the Elder Brain - and steeled herself to enter and ultimately find out exactly what was going on in this once thriving city.


	31. Back to Lith My'athar

_Yes, another update... this is one of the sections the muse is really keen on (and so I have notes coming out of my ears about it) and until I write it all up, I won't be allowed to sleep / eat / function as a regular human being on any level..._

Chapter 31 – Back to Lith My'athar

Reaching the ramparts that soared above the illithid reception room and resting a delicate ebony hand upon the top of the filigreed, spun silver banisters that crawled up the sides of the staircase, Nathyrra paused in front of two, massive wooden doors, each one decorated with the carven images of stylised tentacles and strange, vaguely disturbing non-Euclidean shapes that seemed to almost writhe uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Looking over to Valen, who was currently standing next to her, she nodded grimly; they had to know what had occurred here... they had to know whether their goal to break the Valsharess' alliance with the illithid had been achieved, or whether Jen's sacrifice had been all for naught.

Behind them, the drow clutched their weapons all the tighter, preparing themselves for a sight not many non – illithid had ever witnessed before.

Taking the dull pewter door handles in his bloodied hands, Valen held his breath and pulled; as he did so, there was a rush of warm, moist air, and a thin, almost luminescent mist rolled over them all, carrying the sickening, repulsive stench of rotting flesh with it, causing them all to gag and cover their noses with their hands.

"By the Dark Maiden..." Nathyrra gasped, trying to swallow down the bile that bubbled towards the back of her throat. "What is that?"

Trying to breathe as shallowly as he could, the tiefling grimaced, his eyes watering. "Dead matter. Long dead matter. Whatever had happened here, it happened some time ago." He gave the assassin a sceptical look. "Are you sure you want to go in there?"

Attempting not to retch, Nathyrra nodded. "We have to be certain."

"I think the stench speaks for itself, ussta jallil..." Xen'shai interjected from behind, his voice strangled and tight. "I have never experienced anything so foul."

Inching forwards the small group found themselves nearly overwhelmed by the fumes being given off from something that glowed a strange, unearthly turquoise in the murk; as they drew nearer, it became too much for Szinaufein to bear, and the ranger could not help but turn his head and heave, his stomach contents splattering upon the floor, instantly lost beneath the strange fog that was emanating from what turned out to be a huge bowl-like vessel ahead.

Wiping his mouth, the ranger glanced up shamefacedly. Spending a moment to spare a sympathetic glance, Rizonym patted the younger drow upon the back and offered him his waterskin; taking it and swilling his mouth, Szinaufein smiled weakly in gratitude before jutting his jaw out, determined to face whatever was ahead and not be sick again.

Peering into the faintly effulgent receptacle, Nathyrra had to turn her head and close her eyes from the sight of what looked for all the world like long-rotted brain matter turning slowly to soup within. Gasping slightly, even the tiefling had to fight down his gorge as a bubble of gas roiled lazily in the depths, breaking the surface of the thick, membranous fluid with a revolting pop, releasing yet more of the foul stench of decay into the already putrescent air. Shaking his head, Valen then turned to the drow and Deekin and looked towards the door.

"I think we have our answers," he said, his voice muffled by one hand. "I think we can leave."

_Sssssssss..._

Turning sharply, the Weapon Master's eyes widened as he regarded the slimy, rotted mass that lay in the trough in front of him.

"Did anybody else hear that?"

Looking decidedly shaken, Nathyrra nodded first, quickly followed by the others.

"It can't be..." Jehk'ril whispered, obviously struggling to hold on to his dignity and fight down the urge to vomit. "There can't be any part of it that's still alive!"

_Sssssss... alive... dead... dying..._

Horrified, the small group exchanged bewildered glances before Xen'shai stepped forwards; as the most skilled negotiator, no one stopped him.

"What happened here?"

_Poissssssssooon..._

"You were poisoned?"

_Yessss..._

"By whom?"

_A brain... a sick mind... cut off from the collective... slowly rotting from within... we seek death... sweet oblivion..._

"If we give you what you seek... will that break whatever bargain was struck with the drow female who calls herself the Valsharess?" the Deathsinger asked, his demeanour grave.

_Yesssss... Bargain struck without consent... elder collective... displeased..._

Glancing up, the bard met the eyes of the assassin beside him. "Well, I suppose that solves that little mystery. Note to self: if you're an illithid, don't annoy the Elder Brain collective."

From the depths of the noisome gloop, another bubble rose to the surface and broke with a nauseating splat.

"How do we give it what it wants?" Valen whispered, before gagging slightly.

"I don't know... magic, I suppose?"

"Well don't look at me – I'm all out of anything offensive," Jehk'ril interjected, his voice now sounding decidedly strangled and hoarse.

_Fire... burn... _

Raising an eyebrow, the Deathsinger turned back to the vat. "Fire? Does it have to be magical?"

_No. Buuuuurn..._

"Anyone have any Alchemist's Fire on them?" Xen'shai enquired with a thoughtful look. "If we have enough, that might work..."

Stepping forward, Tsabandiir presented four identical looking clay flasks sealed with a bright yellow wax. "I have these. Although I do not know how you we might get something so... soggy to burn."

Looking thoughtful, Valen glanced towards the doors. "There were curtains and tapestries below... we could use those for fuel." He grimaced again as more gas escaped from the vessel that contained the dying, tortured Elder Brain. "I'm guessing the gases given off would only aid the process."

"It's worth a try," Nathyrra added. "Anything to be out of this room..."

_Yesss... hurry... torture..._

Nodding amongst themselves, the small group moved off, only too happy to leave the cloying confines of the Elder Brain's chamber to find anything that might burn. Once they had gathered everything they could carry, Valen went to retrieve Jen's body and Tsabandiir prepared to throw his jars of Alchemist's Fire onto a pile of expensive looking cloth. Readying themselves, Valen nodded, and the Darkmask hurled all four jars upon the tapestries with all his strength; immediately, they burst into flames and the fire quickly took hold. Watching the flames as if mesmerised, there was suddenly a fizzing explosion as some of the decaying organic matter came into contact with the extreme heat; sharing a slightly worried glance, the ragtag troop began to slowly back away.

"I didn't think organic matter was supposed to do that..." Nathyrra hissed, preparing to run as the flames roared higher and higher.

"I suppose it is whatever the Elder Brain is contained in that burns... some fluids do so admirably," the Darkmask replied.

"Yes; thank you for telling us that earlier, Tsabandiir..."

The flames spat, their edges now glowing purple and green, the intensity of the heat quickly becoming unbearable, singeing their faces.

Glancing down at the assassin, Valen raised an eyebrow. "Run?"

Nodding, Nathyrra could only agree. "Yes. I think that would probably be a good idea right now."

Turning tail, the entire coterie desperately fled the scene as one; they ran out of the Elder Brain's chamber and back down the staircase as quickly as they could, nearly cannoning into the waiting slaves below as small yet viciously hot explosions began to erupt behind them, swiftly followed by a thin, gut-churning whine as what remained of the Elder Brain finally caught alight and began to smoulder.

"What is going on?" asked Maenaran, trying to spy what had transpired in the room ahead.

"No time now!" Nathyrra replied wildly. "This whole place is about to go up in flames – _run!_"

As if to back up her statement, a massive gout of brightly hued flame belched forth from the open double doors and began to lick the ceiling of the reception room; not needing to be told twice, the slaves backed away quickly and began to flee, with Ixenthraxsis the last to leave, a satisfied, almost gratified look upon her draconic face as she glanced back over her shoulder and took one last look at her former life as a slave before the whole room blazed incandescently and began to collapse.

o0o

The menagerie of rebels and former slaves did not slow to a walk until they found themselves upon the plateau in in front of the once magnificent spire. Glancing back, they watched as one as the chamber in which the Elder Brain had been housed exploded outwards with such ferocity that the top of the tower actually crumbled and fell to the ground with an immense crash; shielding their eyes from the smoke and dust, no one cheered nor felt particularly triumphant – the only thing they felt was a grim sense of satisfaction that, for the time being anyway, no one in the near vicinity would have to suffer the indignity of being the property of an illithid ever again.

Looking down at the shroud-swathed face of the corpse he carried, Valen suddenly felt the compulsion to bend his head and say something, his words for Jen and Jen alone.

"You did it. Well done," he whispered.

Feeling a light hand touch his shoulder, the tiefling stiffened slightly before glancing around.

"We need to move out," Nathyrra murmured, a mixture of sympathy and something he could not quite place upon her angular face. "We'll return to the mushroom grove and then plan our next course of action there."

Nodding, the Weapon Master simply agreed with her and, allowing her to take charge and organise the small group of slaves they had managed to save with Ixenthraxsis' help, followed them silently.

o0o

It took them a good few hours to troop their way back to the grove; Xen'shai, Rizonym and Szinaufein had all volunteered to take Jen's body from Valen and relieve his burden, but each time the tiefling just shook his head, stoically bearing her dead weight alone.

Thankfully, they didn't run into any resistance; although they reasoned that any slaver that had escaped their attack would have run as far as they could away from Zorvak'Mur, they nevertheless did not relax, and after setting up a rather convoluted watch rota, they all made themselves as comfortable as possible and began to attempt to snatch some much needed rest.

Whilst the slaves spent their first evening as free men and woman in a long time drifting in and out of sleep and chatting in small groups, the small troop, along with Ixenthraxsis and Maenaran, sat down to discuss their next course of action.

"We need to get back to Lith My'athar as quickly as possible," Nathyrra began, deciding to cut straight to the chase before turning to the elf and the half dragon. "Obviously, whatever you wish to do is up to you, but I am sure the Seer would gladly house you in the city until the battle is over."

Inclining her head, Ixenthraxsis looked to Maenaran briefly before speaking. "I cannot speak for everyone, but I would be more than honoured to pledge my allegiance to you and your Oracle." She then regarded each member of the small coterie one by one. "Although some of you do not shine as the perfect examples of goodness, your cause is just; sometimes it is the case of working in favour of the greater good, and in light of Jenalil's sacrifice, it seems the least I can do."

At this, Maenaran nodded. "I feel the same way, and I know many of the slaves you have rescued do as well. As strange as it may be for me to ally myself with drow, to fight against the Valsharess is a noble cause indeed. If you take us to Lith My'athar, we go not to shelter, but to fight."

Giving both of them a grateful look, the assassin looked to her comrades for support before nodding in reply. "Thank you; I am sure I speak for all of us when I say that we value your support." She then sighed. "Now we just have to get back to Lith My'athar."

"How long a journey is it?" Maenaran asked politely.

"It took us nearly a tenday to get here," Xen'shai answered. "Although we could probably shave a day or two from our journey if necessary. We were... sidetracked a few times."

"That is still a considerable amount of time," Ixenthraxsis broke in. "Does anyone have any teleportation magic?"

Seeing everyone glance in his direction, Jehk'ril shrugged his shoulders. "I have the spell, yes; but it is notoriously fickle here in the Underdark. I do not like using it unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I think this counts as 'absolutely necessary', don't you?" Valen growled aggressively.

"Does it?" the drow mage countered. "The Jallil d'Ssussun is hardly going to get any more dead; then there is the issue that there is no guarantee that the Seer will be able to resurrect her-"

"That's the not the point," the Weapon Master snapped back. "We have to try."

"No one disputes that," Xen'shai interrupted testily. "You are not the only one who is anxious to see whether we can return Jenalil to us, you know."

Snorting, the tiefling glared threateningly at the Deathsinger, who was still bearing the two black eyes he had given him that morning.

"Xen'shai does have a point, Valen," Nathyrra sighed resignedly. "We're all keen to return to the city and find out Jen's ultimate fate. In order for us to be able to do that, we have to work together; whether the outcome is positive or not, we still have the city to defend. Do not forget this."

"I know," Valen glowered. "You patronise me for suggesting otherwise."

"Then stop being maudlin and start being practical," Xen'shai spat.

Glaring at the Deathsinger, the tiefling leant forwards. "Would you like a crooked nose to go with those shiners?"

"Is that a threat, Errdegah-chath?" the bard sneered dangerously.

Clutching her head, Nathyrra rounded upon both males. "Stop it! I cannot take any more of your bickering!" She then turned her attention to the quieter contingent of their group. "What do you think? Should we risk a teleportation spell?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Szinaufein glanced towards Jehk'ril before answering. "I do not know for sure... but I think, given the circumstances, it is a risk worth taking, not just from the point of view of possibly reviving Jenalil, but also because any time wasted making our way back to Lith My'athar is time handed to the Valsharess on a plate." He looked a little self consciously around himself. "Although I could be wrong..."

"I am in agreement with Szinaufein," Rizonym rumbled, nodding. "We should use whatever we have at our disposal."

"I am _not_ in agreement," Tsabandiir hissed. "Why are we worrying about the surfacer female? _We_ ultimately destroyed the Elder Brain, not her. We should just give the slaves directions to the city and let them take the corpse back whilst we press our advantage and move on to the Beholders. Why waste time?"

Growling under his breath, Valen fought down the sudden urge to pummel the callous Darkmask into the ground, and was, rather ironically, saved from having to reply by Xen'shai, who offered the drow cleric a disdainful look before speaking up.

"This is why we do not include you in any plans, abbil," he said acerbically. "Jenalil is more than just a surfacer female; she is our last hope, and for those of us who do actually believe the Seer's prophecies," he turned his disdainful glance to encompass the tiefling, "we actually realise that she is instrumental – a vital piece, if you will – in our success." He then turned to his brother. "I do not wish to force the issue, dalninuk... but what chance do we have of your spell being successful?"

Shaking his head, the mage shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot say; we try to compensate for the magical emanations that disrupt the flow of matter, but so far we have been largely unsuccessful. The odds are slightly in our favour, I will admit... but it is a spell I am still loathe to use."

Nodding, the Deathsinger rested a hand upon his brother's shoulder before addressing the whole group. "I think we have our answer, yes? Normally, I would urge caution, but in this case, it is worth the risk." he turned back to Jehk'ril. "How many can you transport in one casting?"

"Myself plus six others," the mage replied, looking supremely unhappy.

"Then that is easy," Nathyrra interjected. "As long as some of us stay here with the slaves – I suggest Valen and Rizonym – the rest of us can-"

"Why do I have to stay?" the tiefling bristled. "Why don't you stay?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Nathyrra laughed. "I am the obvious choice to go."

"Why?" Valen demanded angrily. "Why are you any more obvious than the rest of us?"

Shooting the Weapon Master a quelling look, the assassin then turned to the others. "If you would excuse us... Valen? May I have a word?"

Glowering at the former Red Sister, the tiefling nodded and stood up. "Jehk'ril; prepare your spell," he growled, his icy eyes never leaving Nathyrra. "We will be needing it soon enough."

He then turned and stalked away from the gathering, his tail twitching angrily from side to side.

Rolling her eyes, the assassin stood up and followed the retreating form of the Weapon Master.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed when she finally drew level a good hundred or so paces from the main camp. "Why are you being so contrary?"

"Me?" Valen asked incredulously. "Why do you always have to be the one who organises everything? Why is it such a forgone conclusion that you will be the one to be involved in everything?"

"_What?!_" the assassin exclaimed. "I was the one chosen to meet with Jen; the Seer chose me specifically to assist her!"

"And I am the Seer's chosen Commander and Jen's chosen guardian!" the tiefling shot back. "You always do this. Every time anything like this happens, you always assume you are in charge!"

"And? So?"

"You're not a Matron Mother in training any more, Nathyrra!" Valen exclaimed. "You are not necessarily automatically in charge! You might have gotten away with in Zorvak'Mur due to the ruse we were running, but that's over now."

"I... I know!" Nathyrra spluttered, feeling a wave of heat creep up her face. "I just thought the remaining slaves would be safer under your protection, that is all-"

"I want to go to Lith My'athar, Nathyrra." The tiefling's voice was all of a sudden soft, but nevertheless, held an unmistakeable edge of steel to it. "I don't want to be left here."

"Why? Why does it matter?"

Taking a deep breath, the Weapon Master ran a bruised hand through his hair. "Because she was alive when I found her. She died in my arms. I physically felt her slip away from me... I've never felt so helpless in my life. All I keep doing is running the moment over and over in my mind; what could I have done differently? Was there any chance of saving her? If I only had the capability to heal her..." He looked to the assassin with an uncharacteristically beseeching look in his eyes. "I can't help but feel all this is my fault somehow. And so I want to be there – I _have_ to be there – whether the news is good or ill. I have to know."

Feeling her shoulders sag at the tiefling's confession, Nathyrra pulled his head onto her shoulder and gently held him to her. He tensed at first, but then slowly returned her embrace, thankful for the comfort she offered him. Nodding against his shoulder, the assassin then looked up and ran a gentle hand over the rough bristles of his face, taking in his earnest expression, and sighed inwardly.

"Okay," she whispered. "I understand. If you wish to go, then I will stay here; we'll send a couple of the slaves – Maenaran, perhaps, and Ixenthraxsis, if she will go – along with you, Deekin and a couple of the others. Is that all right?"

Nodding, Valen broke away from her. "Thank you, my friend," he murmured. "Just one last request... keep Xen'shai with you. I don't think I can handle him right now."

Nodding once again, the Nathyrra smiled ruefully. "All right – but only because I don't want you losing it with him. I'll keep the Elghinnsunduiri with me... along with maybe Rizonym or Szinaufein. Hopefully it should only be for a couple of hours, after all... once the Seer finds out about our need, I am sure she will send aid to us." She then looked back to the direction of the others. "We should inform them... come on."

Offering the Weapon Master her hand, he took it and squeezed it gratefully before letting go and making his way back; biting her bottom lip for a moment, Nathyrra sighed a little sadly before shaking her hair back from her face and following him, all the while trying desperately to sublimate the hatefully slight, but nevertheless sharp, pangs of acute jealousy she could not help but harbour towards the dead half elf.

o0o

Watching the assassin follow the Weapon Master, Xen'shai waited for a minute before standing up and casually moved away from the group as if he was heading in the opposite direction, before changing tack and all but sneaking towards where the drow female and tiefling were conversing in low voices. Straining his hearing, he tried to make out what they were saying, but to no avail; however this did not matter when, much to his sadistic delight, Nathyrra pulled Valen into what looked like a rather intimate embrace. Raising an eyebrow to himself, the Deathsinger's grin grew all the wider when the assassin stroked the Weapon Master's face almost tenderly; he had always suspected that the female harboured secret feelings towards the foul-tempered demonspawn, but seeing them so openly displayed with his own eyes...

Shrinking back into the shadows, Xen'shai narrowed his bruised eyes, fixing the tender little tableau securely into his mind for later usage, knowing that somewhere, somehow, he would be able to use this little titbit of information to his advantage.

o0o

It was eventually decided that Valen, Deekin, Rizonym and Tsabandiir would travel with Jehk'ril on behalf of their little troop back to Lith My'athar, with Maenaran and Milla representing the slaves. Ixenthraxsis was asked, but she had shaken her head, saying that she would rather stay with 'her people' for the time being, and had then moved to join the rest of the slave contingency in a gesture of solidarity.

Furious that he was being considered to stay behind, Xen'shai had complained loudly; it was only when he was reminded that it was potentially only for a few hours that he finally calmed down into what Szinaufein murmured into Nathyrra's sharp ear as a 'bardic strop of epic proportions'. Stifling a smile with one hand, the assassin had watched as Valen once again gathered up Jen's mortal remains in his arms and, standing next to a now nervous-looking Jehk'ril, prepared himself for the spell to be cast.

Taking a deep breath, the drow mage tried to steady his nerves as everyone around him touched him on the arm or shoulder; closing his eyes, he pictured the central guard post just outside of Lith My'athar clearly in his mind before chanting the words of his teleportation spell under his breath. Feeling the arcane energy take hold, he breathed out slowly, furiously concentrating upon his destination, all the while saying a silent, private prayer to Vhaeraun that they would indeed reach their intended target and not be catapulted into a lava field somewhere – or worse, directly into the midst of the Valsharess' troops. Experiencing a swooping sensation in his stomach followed by a judder as his feet hit something solid, the mage staggered forwards and almost anxiously opened his eyes; faced with a veritable forest of cruel looking blades, he jumped slightly and tried to instinctively shrink back behind the much larger forms of Valen and Rizonym.

A familiar voice then broke through the wizard's building panic.

"Sut'rinos Shadowbreath? Is that you?"

"Osyyr!" Jehk'ril heard Valen exclaim, his relief obvious. "I am glad it is you. We risked a teleport... not the wisest of moves, I know, but we need to see the Seer straight away."

Straightening up, Sergeant Osyyr, the gate patrol leader, snapped to attention and saluted his superior. "Of course, Sut'rinos. I shall send a runner ahead." He gave the bundle gathered in the tiefling's arms a good, long look. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course it is," the Weapon Master answered brusquely. "I just need to inform her of a certain... development."

With that, the tiefling broke through the ranks of drow guards and began to march towards the city proper, followed closely by his comrades.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Jehk'ril snorted in annoyance.

"Thank you for getting us here safely, Jehk'ril," he muttered under his breath bitterly as he stalked after his allies, having to quicken his pace to catch them up. "I know that spell is a hard one to get right, so well done, hero of the hour and all that rubbish..."


	32. Don't Fear the Reaper

_Ooooooo, angst, angst, angst... Lay it on thick, Ely, go on... :p _

_Yes, writing from Valen's point of view was just a total indulgence on my part __(...aaaaand quite possibly just an excuse to get him naked for a bit... 'Oh dear! That dreadful muse of mine has made me picture the hawt tiefling butt naked and glistening in the bath! Now that's a shame...' heheheheh!!). __Ahh well... (cheeky grin) - shame he's a bit upset, really... :/ __(Only Ely can go from Uberangst to gratuitous nudity in one chapter – Yay! Go me!)  
_

Chapter 32 – Don't Fear the Reaper

Pulling open the vast double doors to the former temple of Lolth that dominated the central plaza of Lith My'athar, Valen prepared himself to meet the Seer. As always, she was sat upon what was once the throne of House Maeviir's high priestess, but where the chosen clerics of the Spider Queen had once dealt nothing but death, torture and plot, the Seer now sat and received her visions that were only aimed to heal and help.

Seeing the return of her stalwart commander, the Seer smiled serenely and beckoned him closer.

"I was told that you had returned to us, Valen – what brings you here?" she enquired softly, her rich, melodious voice barely above a murmur.

Glancing around himself, the tiefling moved closer, still clutching the covered body of the half elf to himself. "I bring... grave news, Seer," he replied hesitantly, gesturing to the bundle in his arms. "I am sorry."

Frowning, the ancient drow stood gracefully and stepped closer. "What is this?"

Allowing his shoulders to sag, Valen shook his head and sighed. "It's Jenalil. She's... dead."

Turning away from the tiefling to give her faithful a slightly disapproving look as a small gasp erupted from the collection of Eilistraee's followers who were now watching the exchange with extreme interest, the Seer stretched out one coal-black hand and gently drew back the cloth that covered the half elf's face; shaking her head sadly at the blue tinge to Jen's dead lips and the white, papery texture of her now cold skin, the drow regarded the Weapon Master remorsefully.

"This is... not a good omen. I did not foresee this. Thankfully, in cases where violence has brought about an untimely demise, death can be but a transitional phase and therefore reversed." She gave Valen a significant look. "Although I cannot promise anything, I am willing to petition my Lady Eilistraee to have Jenalil brought back to us." She then looked around herself. "Where is Nathyrra? And your other companions?" Catching sight of Maenaran and Milla, she frowned again. "And who are these people?"

"We could not all come back.. Jehk'ril's spell could not contain us all. Nathyrra waits in a mushroom grove, not an hour's march from the remains of Zorvak'Mur. Milla and Maenaran are part of a contingency of slaves we freed... that Jenalil freed. They have come on behalf of their people."

"Slaves? How many are we talking about?" the Seer asked gravely.

"Just over thirty." The tiefling shook his head and sighed heavily. "We lost over half of them in the fighting."

Closing her eyes and touching the Weapon Master sympathetically upon the shoulder, the Seer just nodded. "I see. I shall arrange their return as soon as possible." She then turned her attention to the two former slaves who were glancing around themselves nervously, taking in their dark surroundings. "Do you wish to seek sanctuary here?"

Clearing his throat, Maenaran bowed low to the drow female. "No. We wish to pledge our help – our allegiance, if you will – to fighting the Valsharess." the elf sighed. "Not all of us are fighters, but if we can help, we will. That is if you will have us."

Smiling in welcome, the Seer nodded. "We would have offered you sanctuary even if you were not willing to stand by our side... but since you are, I welcome you to Lith My'athar." She then turned and made a complicated hand gesture to one of the priestesses who was now hovering behind her, obviously anticipating that her help might be needed. "Qilyrr; take these two to one of the guest rooms so they can make themselves comfortable, and then go and inform Zaebiin that we will be needing the abandoned building to the north cleared out- and the sooner, all the better - after all." Turning back to Valen, she smiled sadly. "Take Jenalil to the inner sanctum and lay her upon the altar. Do not worry; we shall soon find out the truth."

o0o

Trailing behind the Weapon Master, Deekin followed dejectedly as they took Jen's body into a relatively small yet richly decorated room. Where there were once only depictions of arachnids and cobwebs, the Seer's followers had scratched most of them out and replaced them with stylised pictures of elegantly dancing figures bearing long, graceful swords under full, shining moons, and in the centre of the room stood a large altar, just long enough to lay the half elf down upon; once upon a time, this would have been for the purpose of sacrifice, but now, they hoped it was for a possible rebirth. Lighting four white, tapered candles located upon each corner, the kobold watched as Valen laid the half elf's corpse down gently and gingerly unwrapped her from the cloak she had been swaddled in, as if he was afraid that on some level he was going to even now somehow hurt her. Holding a delicate hand to her lips, the Seer watched with sad eyes as she took in the extent of her supposed prophesied saviour's injuries; the dried mess of blood and gore that was once her chest where she had forcibly ripped her magical energy from her body; her blackened, blistered arms where the flames she had so desperately tried to hold on to and control had first erupted; the odd, crooked angle of her neck where she had landed headlong upon the hard, cruel ground.

Nodding, the high priestess of Eilistraee stepped forwards; bowing his head a little, Valen stepped backwards, and Rizonym and Tsabandiir slipped out unnoticed as other members of the Dark Maiden's clergy filed in to the room, one of them bearing a large, flawless diamond, others with bundles of strange looking herbs, the last with a golden bowl full of steaming, fragrant water.

Turning to both the tiefling and the kobold, the Seer gave them an apologetic look. "I would ask you to leave now; we have much work in preparing Jenalil's body for her wandering spirit to return... I suggest you rest. It shall not be long before the others arrive back here; hopefully by then, I shall have an answer for you."

"I don't want to leave," Valen replied belligerently, sticking out his bristled chin slightly in defiance, towering over the much smaller drow, whilst Deekin nodded fervently by his side.

"Where Boss is, Deekin is also," the bard agreed.

Shaking her head, the Seer just smiled mournfully. "Good Valen... Deekin... there is nothing you can do here except get in our way. I promise; as soon as I have any news, I will send someone to you immediately. Now, for the time being, I suggest you try to relax."

With that, she turned back towards the corpse laid out in front of her.

Sighing angrily, the tiefling glanced down at the little kobold, who looked up at him with huge, frightened eyes.

"Come on, Deekin; the Seer is right. There's nothing we can do here."

Resting a firm but not unsympathetic hand upon the bard's shoulder, the Weapon Master steered Deekin in front of him, and they both left without a backwards glance.

o0o

Sitting despondently in the room he had been afforded before they had left Lith My'athar for the first time, Deekin plucked listlessly at the strings of his lyre, trying to comfort himself. Before he had met Boss, he had been the favourite jester of the dragon Tymofarrar, but nothing more; since travelling with the half elf, the kobold had discovered more about himself and his abilities... and about what true friendship really meant.

Wiping a scaled hand across his eyes, the little kobold scolded himself: he was not going to cry. Nothing was confirmed – for all he knew, the drow lady could be working on bringing her back right now, and the next person to come through the door might be Boss, with her ever-ready smile and her melodious, infectious laugh.

This did not come to pass, however. Instead, a young drow male knocked on his door and silently offered him a tray of appetising pastries and delicately-spiced meats; taking a handful of each, the kobold tried to enjoy them, but they tasted of nothing more than bitter ash in his mouth. Sighing heavily, Deekin instead dragged a large, weather-stained book from his backpack, followed by a tatty, well used quill; finding a blank page, the bard settled himself down to write.

_... And as Mighty Boss shone like the sun, the faithful kobold companion runs forwards and uses his crossbow to lay low many of the nasty illithid who likes eating brains... an explosion then happens – BOOM! - and Mighty Boss falls like shooting star, slaying many, many foes at the same time... _

He had no idea how long he sat there, but once he had filled a couple of pages with his memories, Deekin read them back; with a sigh, he set down his quill, shook his head and ripped the pages free from their bindings. Screwing the paper up into a tight ball, he then threw it into the fire that crackled merrily in the hearth to his left and watched as the parchment curled, blackened, and finally caught alight; feeling a tear escape one of his bright yellow eyes and slide down the side of his long, reptilian snout, the kobold took up his book and packed it securely away, knowing that there was no way he was in any way prepared to write the ending of his Tale of Boss at this particular point.

Curling his legs up under his chin, the little bard hugged his knees, trying to decide what he was going to do next when he heard a soft tap at his door; raising his head, he felt his heart leap a little in his chest – perhaps it was the drow lady...

Scampering up, Deekin ran to his door and opened it to find Nathyrra and Ixenthraxsis standing there, looking grave.

"The Seer says she's ready to speak with us," Nathyrra said softly, looking worried. "I don't know if it's good news or not, Deekin, so... be ready, all right?"

Nodding, Deekin picked up his lyre and hugged it close to him, as if the instrument would lend him some small measure of comfort and followed the two females down the corridor.

Reaching the door to the inner chamber, Ixenthraxsis stopped and gestured for the kobold to go past her.

"Be strong, little dragon," she murmured, inclining her head to him.

"You not coming in?" the bard asked.

The half dragon shook her head. "No... although I feel your pain, Jenalil was your friend, and it would be... unseemly for me intrude upon this moment. I hope you get the answer that you all so deserve."

"Deekin thanks you, Dragon Lady," the kobold answered, his throat all of a sudden feeling tight as he moved away from the paladin and entered the room.

If it hadn't been for the fact that he had seen her broken body with his own eyes, Deekin would have thought Jen asleep; the Seer's followers had managed to clean up her wounds and re-dress her in a beautiful yet simple white gown and they had unbraided her long, chestnut hair and brushed it until it shone darkly in the candlelight. Her hands, still looking burnt and blistered, were folded over her chest and her hazel eyes were closed, her moonstone circlet still in place upon her alabaster brow. No one spoke; all eyes were trained upon the small body of the half elven female, a sense of dreadful anticipation hanging in the air.

The last to enter the room was Valen, looking dishevelled and tired, beads of sweat standing proud from his brow. Guessing correctly that whereas he had decided to spend the time writing, the tiefling had spent his time training, losing himself in the deadly dance of combat; looking up, the kobold offered the Weapon Master a small nod, which, to his slight dismay, was not returned.

Clasping her hands in front of her, the Seer nodded slowly, and all the other priestesses of Eilistraee left the room, the last one closing the door behind her. Regarding the small congregation solemnly, Deekin felt a small bubble of panic rise within him as he anticipated the words that the drow female would say next with crystal clarity:

Jen wasn't coming back.

"I bring you all here now to appraise you of our situation. Alas, we have attempted a resurrection... but we have not been successful in our endeavour." The Seer sighed heavily. "Even the Dark Maiden is unsure of what has happened; as far as I can gather, there is no soul to find nor petition for. According to Eilistraee, Jenalil has simply... disappeared." She regarded each, shocked face individually. "I am sorry."

"Well, that is that," Tsabandiir spoke up immediately. "We should put this whole, silly episode behind us and do what we should have done a long time ago."

Taking in a sharp, collective breath, the others just regarded the Darkmask coldly.

Surprisingly, it was Rizonym who spoke first, his fists clenched.

"How can you say this?" he rumbled angrily. "We were presented with a chance... and we took it. We should be honouring the Jallil d'Ssussun's memory, not dismissing her as a...a failed experiment!"

Glancing at the scarred warrior, surprised that he of all people had leapt to Jen's defence against the sour cleric, the others simply nodded.

"I think you should leave, Tsabandiir," Xen'shai added. "We will speak later."

"Since when did you give in to maudlin sentimentality, Elghinnsunduiri?" the Darkmask hissed back. "I expect it from the assassin, but you? I said your heart was running away with your head in all this; obviously I was right!"

Before the Deathsinger had a chance to reply, Tsabandiir turned on one heel and marched from the room, violently throwing the door open as he did so, and slamming it shut behind him with such fury that the candles that surrounded Jen's body flickered and spat as they fought to stay alight.

Looking down to the floor, Xen'shai chose to say nothing to this outburst.

Deciding that, for the moment, just ignoring Tsabandiir's tantrum was the best tactic, the Seer continued on quietly. "I think it fair to leave Jenalil here for a day's cycle so that you each have a chance to pay your respects and say your last farewells before we inter her in the Sepulchre below, alongside our other heroes. Does anyone here disagree?"

Shaking their heads, the drow closed their eyes, whilst Valen just snorted heavily and stared ahead, fixing his gaze stoically upon one of the paintings that adorned the walls, his jaw tight and Deekin began to sniff back the tears he had held onto all that afternoon.

"Boss... no..." he crooned, stepping forward and clambering to to the stone bench located beside the altar. "You goes where faithful kobold companion cannot now... how will you manage? Boss needs Deekin..."

Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, the Seer gestured that the others should leave and let the little bard grieve on his own.

o0o

To make sure that everyone had their chance to share a last, private moment with the half elf if they so wished, the Seer posted a guard outside the door to ensure everyone their privacy, although this proved essentially futile since the Weapon Master spent most of the following few hours sitting on the stairs located nearby, just watching people enter and then leave through lowered, drawn brows.

After Deekin, Nathyrra came to pay her respects; upon leaving the room a good half an hour or so later, she had entered one of the prayer rooms that the Seer had dedicated to the private worship of her goddess and stayed there - as far as the tiefling could tell, anyway. After Nathyrra, the rest of the drow had come, the last one to enter being a solemn looking Xen'shai; feeling a bubble of intense hatred build within him at the sight of the Deathsinger, Valen had then forced himself to concentrate upon the ground beneath his feet, breathing hard, until he heard the click of boot-heels on the marble flagstones some time later – looking up, he watched the drow bard leave the temple and steeled himself to stand up and do what he knew he had to, lest he regret it for the rest of his life.

Standing tall and contriving his face into an impassive mask, the Weapon Master strode purposefully towards the guard standing next to the door to the inner sanctum; nodding at him grimly, Valen requested wordlessly to be let in. Inclining his head, the drow stepped to one side, and opening the door with a slightly sweat-slicked hand, the tiefling entered the room, immediately closing the door once again behind him.

For a long moment, Valen stood by the door, watching the candles that were situated on all four corners of the altar burn, dribbling thin lines of bright white wax down their smooth bodies, dripping from their holders to make waxen flowers upon the polished black marble floor. Finally, he slid his gaze from the bright light to the white-clad form of the half elf, laying so still in front of him.

Feeling his mouth run dry at the realisation that this was truly the last time he would ever be able to speak with her, even if she could not reply, he moved forwards with uncharacteristically faltering steps until he drew level with the podium that held Jen's mortal remains.

Sighing, he sat heavily upon the stone bench located beside it and, resting his elbows upon the cold stone of the table, regarded her over the tops of his steepled fingers, working his jaw convulsively as he fought down the lump that suddenly welled within his throat.

"I don't know what to say," he murmured eventually, dropping one hand to cover her ice cold one. "This should never have happened? I don't suppose that's the kind of thing you'd want to hear; then again, I never was good with words." He sighed again, trying to maintain his composure. "I guess I could scold you; I've done that enough in the past..." the tiefling then snorted ruefully, allowing a smile to play along his lips. "The past. I've barely known you a tenday, and yet I talk about the past... I suppose it just feels like it was longer." Lifting his hand from hers, he then reached up and smoothed one of the curls that framed her face behind one slightly pointed ear before leaning towards her, as if to whisper to her. "I know you wanted to hear this in life; if I had known then what I know now, I would never have let my stupid pride get in the way... but I don't hate you. I never did. Yes, I hated what you represented, for a time... but I never hated you. Ever."

Keeping his head bent, the tiefling stood up slowly.

"I'll never forget you, Jenalil Allomann."

Then, removing her circlet with one gentle hand, he swallowed hard and brushed his lips upon the half elf's forehead, laying a feather light kiss between her eyes. Straightening himself up, the then took a deep breath and almost angrily ran a rough hand over his face; gritting his teeth, Valen took one last look at the corpse before turning towards the door and leaving without a backwards glance.

o0o

Looking up from her meditations, the Seer watched with half closed eyes as Valen approached her, looking a little distracted. Coughing behind one hand, he abruptly brought himself to attention when she opened her eyes fully and regarded him with curious sympathy.

"Yes, Valen?"

"Permission to go back to my old position," the tiefling said in a flat, toneless voice.

"Eventually – yes. Right now, I think you need to rest."

The Weapon Master shook his head. "With respect, no; I think I need to go back to leading my troops."

"Good Valen," the Seer sighed, standing up, "after the funeral – yes, it would be prudent for us to return to normal as quickly as possible, but until then... take some time for yourself. You look exhausted."

Glaring stoically over her head, the tiefling said nothing as his tail twitched from side to side.

"If I have to, I will make it an order..."

Sagging a little, Valen glanced down at the much smaller female and allowed an exasperated sigh to escape him. "I do not wish to rest, Seer-"

"Throwing yourself back into your duties straight away will not ease your pain, Weapon Master," the drow interrupted, before leading him to a small cabinet located upon the wall nearby. Drawing out a small vial of a clear liquid, she handed it to him with a smile. "And although this won't either, it will help you sleep dreamlessly." Touching the tiefling on the arm, she offered him a commiserating look. "Go now - you did your best... you should be kinder to yourself. Go and rest."

Taking the flask, the Weapon Master considered refusing, but seeing the gentle yet earnest look in the Seer's golden eyes, he simply offered her a resigned roll of his before turning away and making his way to the stairs that led to his room.

Entering the familiar sanctuary of his lodgings, Valen dropped the potion upon the nightstand next to the deep pile of furs and cushions he called his bed. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, the tiefling stopped and winced; staring back at him was a travel worn stranger clad in dirty clothes, with dark circles under his eyes and a thick growth of a red-brown beard upon his chin. Grimacing with the realisation that he indeed looked a total mess, he had to admit that he could now see where the Seer was coming from; he _did _need time to sort himself out and catch up on some sleep, and so with this thought in mind, he bent down and unlaced his boots before kicking them off and making his way to the little bathroom that was tucked away behind an unadorned door located beyond the far wall of his room.

Not for the first time, the tiefling gave a small word of thanks to the drow who had designed this convenience – alongside a sink and a privy, a small bathtub sat in the centre of the room with a crude pump next to it that, once operated, pumped up water from the volcanic springs located deep within the rocks below the city. Although the water smelt vaguely of sulphur, it was deliciously hot, and after stripping off his filthy clothes and unbinding his hair from its long tail, Valen climbed into the tub and sank gratefully into its warm depths.

Submerging himself fully for a moment, he slowly broke the surface of the water again and, dangling his feet over the edge of the bath so that he could rest his head as comfortably as possibly upon the rim, he allowed himself at last to mull over the events of the last tenday.

It had been a strange time, without a doubt.

Frowning a little as he felt a bubble of conflicting emotions unfurl within him once again, he slowly sat up and reached for the pot of cleansing soap he kept on a crude shelf, just within arms reach. Scrubbing himself clean to take his mind off any particularly unpleasant thoughts, he winced slightly as the soapsuds trickled over his acid-scored shoulder, and instead tried to think about things from the point of view of the inevitably incoming battle, but each time, despite his best efforts, his thoughts seemed to settle again and again upon the half elf lying dead upon the altar only a floor below him, causing him to ponder what might have been had she only survived. Determined not to go down this particular path of thought as he rinsed the suds from his body, he sighed resignedly with a sad shake of his head and reached up for the sharp, cut-throat razor that he kept by his pot of soap; propping up a small mirror on the edge of the bath, he began to concentrate upon the simple act of shaving, methodically shedding his face of the unruly thatch of his beard, the slow strokes of the blade against his skin making him focus upon the job in hand rather than anything else.

Finishing this ritual, he rinsed his face one last time and almost absent-mindedly untangled his damp hair from around his horns before heaving himself out of the water. Drying himself quickly, he squeezed as much of the extraneous moisture as he could out of his crimson hair before giving it a quick rub and then, after dragging a comb through it, reached for the crystal vial the Seer had given him.

Holding it up to the light, he sat upon his makeshift bed and inspected its sparkling contents; shrugging his shoulders, he pulled the tiny cork from its neck and swallowed its contents down in one. Almost immediately, his legs and arms felt heavy; blinking rapidly, he instinctively fought to remain awake as he crawled forwards and drew back the top layer of furs; snuggling down into their warm, soft interior as his eyelids drooped, he pulled the top layer back to cover himself and yawned mightily before instantly falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, where the visions of dead comrades could not reach him.

o0o

_Drifting... A dead weight lifted. _

_Freedom. Unfettered chains; wings of conciousness no longer bound by constraints of fire and flesh and bone._

_Cold..._

Slowly opening her eyes, Jen raised a sluggish hand to shield her curiously sensitive vision from the faint light that surrounded her. Feeling something upon her skin crack and the sensation of fluid run down her upraised arm, the half elf inspected her arms and was shocked to find them crisped and blistered, burnt black by some unimaginable fire... but there was no pain.

Sitting up, she shivered as her body left the cool, bare stone beneath her and her mind reeled at the effort; swallowing convulsively, she fought down the nauseous, spinning sensation in her throat and stomach and looked down at herself, only to find that she was naked.

Frantically trying to cover herself up with her burnt arms, she glanced around herself, trying to ascertain exactly where she was, but there were no clues, only plain cold grey stone, unadorned cold grey walls and a high, cold grey ceiling.

Still, this place felt... familiar.

Realising she was clutching something in her now almost claw-like hands, she slowly brought whatever it was in front of herself and inspected it carefully; it was a disc of gold that looked like it had once belonged upon the pommel of a sword: the Relic of the Reaper.

Slowly staggering to her feet, the naked half elf stumbled forward, disorientated, along the long corridor she had awoken in, unsure of exactly where she was, or even what had happened to her. Trying to piece together her shattered memory, snippets of recollection bubbled to the surface of her mind –_ white hot flames... unimaginable heat... a tender embrace..._ - but just as she tried to pounce upon them and study them closely, they sank once again out of her reach, always tantalisingly just outside her desperate mental grasp.

Eventually, the homogeneous grey of the chamber changed, the walls now illuminated with an eerie red-green light that made her feel sick once again; turning a corner, she stopped as her heart gave one, immense thud as she saw a solitary figure, swathed all in black, standing upon a central podium, surrounded by gargoyle-encrusted portals.

"Welcome, Sojourner."

The figure's voice was deep and had strange echoes within it, as if a collective had spoken, but rather than be afraid, Jen felt comforted; she knew this being. They had met before...

"Reaper," she whispered, her awkwardness over her naked state forgotten. "What am I doing here?"

Lifting its hooded, skull-like head, so curiously equine in shape, it regarded her with coldly glowing blue orbs.

"You have died."

Feeling her mouth turn to ash, Jen frowned. "I have?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Through your own artifice."

Confused by this answer, the half elf shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"Your inability to control the darkness that resides within you caused your demise."

"The... darkness?" Jen raised one of her burnt hands and rubbed her temples. "You mean my magic?"

"If that is what you wish to call it... yes."

Shaking her head, unable to fully comprehend what she was being told, the half elf stepped closer. "I remember... heat..."

"The power burnt too brightly. You gave it too much of yourself. And so it consumed you."

Glancing back down at her blackened arms, Jen nodded slowly.

"You must learn to control it."

"Control it? How am I supposed to do that? Its never done this before... usually, it obeys... I know there's a price – there always was – but it never turned on me like this before..."

"It seeks to be free."

"Free?" the half elf asked, feeling a ripple of fear run through her. "What... what do you mean?"

"It is a power that is... lent to you," The Reaper replied; although its multi-faceted voice was as even and flat as ever, Jen nonetheless couldn't help but notice a hint of guarded caution enter it. "You must seek to control it, or it will destroy you."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?"

The Reaper paused. "This Realm will aid you. If the power consumes you again, you will be brought here. However, each time this happens, the darkness will grow stronger, making it more difficult to tame."

Screwing up her face, Jen tried to fathom her way through the Reaper's maze of words. "So... if it consumes me again, you will bring me here. But if I am brought here, the power grows stronger and more difficult to deal with... that seems a bit absurd."

"Indeed. It is a paradox that you must bear."

"So basically it's a case of 'learn to deal with it or regret it in the long run?"

The Reaper inclined its head towards her. "Inelegantly put... but essentially correct."

The half elf lapsed into silence, taking in her surroundings, studying the mist-shrouded portals that encompassed them. "Where do they go?" she asked eventually.

"Many places," the Reaper answered levelly.

Shivering slightly, the half elf drew her arms around her exposed body. "Is this the Shadow Plane?"

"No. It is... somewhere else."

"Where?"

It was the Reaper's turn to pause. "It is a... nexus. A place where Planes collide."

"Am I really dead?"

"Yes. Your friends mourn your passing."

"Oh." Feeling a sharp, stabbing sensation in her throat, Jen all of a sudden found herself fighting back tears of shameful self pity. Swallowing hard, she fought to regain her composure. "Can I return?"

"Eventually... yes."

"Why 'eventually'?"

"According to your friends, you have been dead for some time."

"'Some time'?" Jen repeated incredulously. "Define 'some time'!"

"It has been two days so far."

Running a hand over her face, the half elf rubbed at her eyes, breaking a few of the blisters that covered her fingers, this time with agonising results. Hissing in pain, she held her hands out in front of her.

"Why does this hurt all of a sudden?" she winced through gritted teeth. "It didn't hurt before."

"Your realisation that you can return and live once again reforges a link to the material state of your body. Your arms were... are... badly burnt."

"My body?" Jen looked a little bewildered. "But I am here?"

"Yes," the Reaper replied.

"But you just said my body is with my friends."

"It is."

"How does that work?"

"You exist in two states; the material and the spiritual."

"So... this is my spirit?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Jen's brow furrowed. "But... I thought spirits were like ghosts?"

"You are not a spirit."

"Now you're contradicting yourself!" the half elf retorted, her exasperation with the whole situation finally overwhelming her. "Is this my spirit or not?"

"That is a difficult question to answer, Sojourner. I do not expect you to understand it."

Giving a frustrated sigh, Jen sank to the floor before holding up the Relic she held. "What's this?"

The Reaper gave her a long look. "It is an artefact."

"I know that," she replied, a hint of sarcasm colouring her voice. "What is it exactly?"

"It ties you to this place."

"I thought my so called power did that?" Jen asked, now beginning to feel angry.

"No. Your power grows here because it is near its... source." it answered carefully. "The Relic, however, is the true key to this Gatehouse."

Cradling her temples in her injured hands, Jen just shook her head. "I don't understand."

"You will. In time."

Glancing up, she gave the Reaper a furious look. "Why can't I know now? Why does everything have to be such a mystery?"

"I cannot tell you."

At this, her anger quickly transformed into cynicism. "Cannot, or will not?"

"Cannot." The Reaper paused. "Not at this point."

"'At this point?" Jen echoed. "So you might be able to tell me in the future?"

"Yes."

Nodding, the half elf stood up once again. "This is all just a big game, isn't it? Like chess?"

"I am unfamiliar with the specific game you are referring to... but it seems as good an analogy as any."

"I don't think I like being a pawn in all of this."

"You have little choice. It is your fate. Your mother decided for you."

Snapping her head up, Jen's eyes widened in shock. "My _mother? _My mother is dead – she died when I was small! What does she have to do with this?"

"I cannot say."

Striding up to the black-clad figure, Jen rounded upon the Reaper. "What has all of this got to do with my mother!" she near shouted. "I demand that you tell me!"

Shaking its head almost ruefully, the Reaper sighed. "I am bound by laws and rules older than you can imagine, Jenalil Allomann. As much as I wish to tell you... I cannot."

Turning away from the Reaper in furious frustration, the half elf said nothing.

"That, however, does not mean you cannot seek answers elsewhere."

Looking over her shoulder at the Reaper's hooded visage, Jen's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Where can I find answers? And to what questions?"

"Continue on your path," the Reaper replied simply. "Discover your destiny, and you will find the questions, as well as their answers, that you seek." it then bowed its head as if in supplication. "I can say no more."

It looked towards one of the portals and pointed steadily with a long, skeletal finger.

"It is time. Find the answers to questions you know yet not of. Go."


	33. Rebirth

_So tired... sorry if there are spelling mistakes, but work is being a bitch at the moment._

_A LOT is about to kick off in one way or another – ideally I would liked to have published the next three chapters together so they made sense, but then there wouldn't have been any updates for well over a week... ah well!_

_For lots and lots of WDR sketches (including Jen's 'character sheet') check my DA page – link in my profile ;-)_

Chapter 33 – Rebirth

Pouring himself a generous measure of a dark, golden hued liquor from a dusty bottle, Xen'shai sat in a shadowy corner of Lith My'athar's most popular tavern, his fellow drow males - minus Tsabandiir - surrounding him. Together, they had indulged in an expensive meal – the best they'd eaten in a long while – and then had pooled the rest of their resources to buy a good bottle of Illuskan brandy, which they now nursed quietly, each lost in his own web of thoughts. Whether the Deathsinger's current dismay was due to the apparent failure of his Lord's plans or that he genuinely felt some measure of sorrow at the half elven female's passing, he couldn't quite say; suspecting it was a good mixture of both, Xen'shai impulsively raised his glass and offered a quiet toast.

"To the Jallil d'Ssussun..."

Murmuring in assent, the other drow males lifted their glasses and echoed his sentiment.

"So... now what?" Jehk'ril asked eventually, breaking the morose silence that had once again fallen over the small group. "Do we just await the Shadow's judgement with regards to our failure?"

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, the Deathsinger indicated that he didn't know, but said nothing.

"We can still fight against the Valsharess," Szinaufein broke in, his tone determined. "Although our plans to aid the daxunyrr have crumbled to naught, nothing is stopping us from continuing to oppose her and her armies."

"What are you talking about?" Jehk'ril asked incredulously. "Why should we help the followers of Eilistraee?" he shook his head. "Whatever happens now, it will not be to our gain... whoever dominates – the Valsharess or the will of the Dark Maiden – there will be no place for us."

Sighing heavily, Xen'shai took a long swallow of his drink, grimacing at its fiery kiss trickled down his throat. "You have no idea how right you are," he murmured, turning his now empty glass in his hands so that is sparkled slightly in the subdued light.

At this, the other three males fixed their attention upon the Deathsinger as one.

"Are you going to elaborate as to exactly why that is?" Jehk'ril asked eventually, deliberately keeping his tone light.

Regarding first his brother and then Szinaufein and Rizonym as one, Xen'shai shook his head. "Not now," he sighed. "Later, maybe. Right now, I just need a drink, a whore and a good night's rest." Topping up his glass, he tossed the contents back with a practised flick of his wrist. "I'm off. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, the Deathsinger left.

Saying nothing, the remaining three males simply watched silently as Xen'shai stalked away, a look of sympathetic commiseration upon Szinaufein and Rizonym's face, whilst a look of faintly disgusted disbelief crossed Jehk'ril's.

o0o

It didn't take long for Xen'shai to satiate two of his three desires; walking to the bar, he purchased a rather cheaper bottle of Alamontan wine and then tramped to the dockside, where he knew the local brothel would have a small yet highly skilled selection of flesh available for his purchase. The Seer had initially frowned upon this industry flourishing underneath her nose, but in the end had allowed it to continue anyway, realising that the troops who trained and fought in her name everyday sometimes needed a little bit of respite; although the chase was often enjoyable in itself, sometimes the chance to indulge in an uncomplicated release was simply all that was needed.

After tolerating the rather arched smile of the Madam who ran the enterprise, the Deathsinger handed over more coin and selected his entertainment for the evening from a gaggle of mostly half-drow females lounging upon stuffed silken pillows; after paying a little more to ensure she would do exactly what he wanted, he paused before fishing into his belt pouch and dropping yet more coin in the jewel encrusted hand of the Madam and picking a second girl. He then nodded to the female in charge who then led him and his purchases to a luxurious, heavily decorated room; opening the door, she enquired if there was anything else he might desire – shaking his head, the Madam left, leaving Xen'shai in the competent, well-manicured hands of the merchandise.

Although they did their jobs admirably, tantalising him with their erotic displays and fulfilling his every desire with their skilled hands and artful tongues, when he finally lay back sweating and spent upon the silken sheets of his rented bed, he still felt curiously empty. Sensing his dissatisfaction, one of the two females quirked a curious eyebrow at him and tried to coax him back into action with her talented mouth, obviously concerned that she would be punished if he complained about a job done badly, only for the Deathsinger to push her away with a not unkind shake of his head. Narrowing their eyes, the two females had then asked sharply if that was all he required; pausing before nodding, they had then both left him, their seductively swaying hips and taut, dusky thighs causing him to smile a little salaciously as he recalled with graphic detail what lay between them before stretching back upon the bed again, this time in search of nothing more than sleep.

But sleep was the one desire he could not slake.

Laying back, his ebon hands laced behind his snowy head, Xen'shai felt the now-familiar tendrils of emotions he once had little time for in the past – anxiety, worry, and yes, even a sense of loss - unfurl from the region of his stomach and spread until they threatened to choke him

Why was the Shadow remaining so quiet? He had expected immediate retribution for his failure... maybe he had managed to disentangle what he so desperately desired from the half elf's soul for himself? Or perhaps he was waiting to strike his Faithful down at a more opportune moment?

Or maybe the Remnant had returned... 

Curling himself up into a ball, Xen'shai shuddered at that thought. If it was true, then the Deathsinger was definitely in trouble - Vhaeraun's retribution for losing such a prize would be swift and unforgiving. Reasoning that since there had been no hint that anything of the kind was winging its way to him, Xen'shai tried to calm his breathing and relax. Sitting up, he then reached for the bottle of wine he had purchased earlier and, tearing the cork out with his teeth, drank down its contents almost in one. Feeling his head swim at the sudden influx of alcohol, Xen'shai lay down again, this time finding himself welcomed not so much by the arms of true rest, but rather those of inebriated unconsciousness.

o0o

Slowly, Nathyrra broke the surface of her meditations and opened her crimson eyes to find that the fire that had once crackled merrily in the grate was now growing cold and that, rather more worryingly, she couldn't actually feel her legs. Trying to stretch her unfeeling limbs, she winced and took in a sharp breath as she felt a fizzing, popping sensation, heralding the awakening of her once benumbed nerves. Staggering upright, the drow hobbled around the meditation chamber a little, trying to stamp some life into her feet before she had to leave the room and face the day ahead of her; sighing to herself, she ran her hands through hair that was in need of a wash and debated what to do next. The Seer would call them when she was ready to conduct the funeral service, that much she knew; Nathyrra expected her to use the enchanted spire atop the temple to judge the correct tim, and since such services were usually conducted as the moon upon the surface waned, the assassin had no doubt that is when the Seer would perform the ritual to say goodbye to the half elf once and for all. Using this line of reason, she then judged that she had the best part of the day left to sort herself out; sighing, she straightened herself up and left the chamber to face the trials the day would inevitably bring.

o0o

Warily regarding the rather sinister-looking portal that the tall, skeletal figure of the Reaper was pointing towards, Jen glanced back, swallowed hard and closed her eyes before stepping through. 

Cold tendrils of panic welled in her as she felt a strange, rushing sensation threaten to overwhelm her; it seemed to last a lifetime but be over in nothing more than a second as she pitched forwards into darkness. Suddenly, she tried to scream as she felt a hot, agonising stab of pure fire punch through her entire body; trying to gasp for much needed air, she felt something convulse violently as she sank slowly into a red-black womb of intense heat and pain.

Struggling to breathe, she fought to break the surface of the strange, viscous quality of her mortal prison, her chest feeling as if it had been rent open by some unimaginable beast seeking exit from within herself, whilst her arms felt alive with white-hot fire. Convulsing again, she heard a clatter, strangely muffled through her membranous world, as something crashed to the floor, followed by a swooping sensation as she herself followed it. Down she fell, her passage at once a split second and an age, until she thudded against cold, cold stone, the agonising jolt that ripped through her body as she landed helping her to find her voice.

Screaming out, she continued to struggle to take in a breath, but something was blocking her airway; coughing, he felt something sticky and thick fill her mouth before it splattered upon the floor. Now sobbing in both fear and pain, she stretched out one hand, but found only more cold stone; terrified that something had gone terribly wrong, she continued to scream out, but her voice sounded hoarse and thin.

"Reaper!"

The fire that had once raged through her body as a fever now abruptly left, leaving her shivering and cold upon the floor, blind and frightened. 

"Please..."

o0o

Lingering a little by the door to the the inner sanctum, Nathyrra paused and considered entering one last time. Someone had obviously sent the sentry away, for the door was now unguarded. 

Laying her forehead against the cool wood of the door, the assassin shook her head – torturing herself over her failure and the loss of possibly one of her few real friends wasn't going to bring the half elf back. Best to say goodbye with the others and then grieve alone. Sighing, she turned to leave, but was stopped dead in her tracks when suddenly there was a crash from within the chamber, closely followed by a muffled thin yet heart wrenching scream and a terrible retching sound. 

Bewildered and more than a little frightened, Nathyrra considered running to fetch a guard; had someone infiltrated the sanctum?

Or was it something else?

Drawing her weapon, the assassin gingerly opened the door and peered within, recoiling a little as another scream, now no more than a whine, greeted her, followed by the sound of someone whispering.

"Please..."

Frozen to the spot, Nathyrra's blade fell from her hand and clattered to the floor as she took in the scene before her.

No longer did Jen's body lay peacefully upon the dais; instead, it was upon the floor in a huddled heap. At first, the drow thought that someone had entered the chamber in the night and defiled the half elf's body; at this, she felt a stab of red-hot rage rise within her. But then something rational within her made her stop and take in the scene again.

Jen's body was shivering.

_Jen _was shivering.

Her hand flying to her hand in shock, Nathyrra ran forwards, the usually nimble, graceful drow almost stumbling in her haste and shock. Gathering the half elf up in her arms, she desperately felt the half elf's neck some indication that she was truly alive; finding a faint yet steady pulse, she almost dropped the surfacer.

"Oh, sweet goddess..." the assassin breathed as she frantically looked around herself for aid. "You're alive... How... When... What... Oh,_Jen_..."

Feeling a completely unexpected swell of emotion assault her, Nathyrra fought back a lump in her throat as she tried to call for aid.

"Help! In here! Jen's alive! Get the Seer! _JEN'S ALIVE!_"

o0o

Hearing the commotion coming from the inner sanctum, the guard nearest the door frowned. 

No one had been near the body of the half elf in nearly nine hours... so what was it?

Swallowing hard, the drow male crept forwards, his imagination all of a sudden full of the various, unpleasant undead that could spring from the chamber if he was not careful; with this in mind, he slowly stretched out a hand, grasped the door handle and steeled himself.

If there was one thing he wasn't expecting when he finally opened the door was to find Nathyrra, one of the Seer's most Faithful, sitting on the floor cradling the now shivering body of their erstwhile saviour.

Nodding quickly at her cry for help, the guard turned tail and ran, leaving the former Red Sister with the half elf.

It didn't take him long to locate the Seer; she was, after all in the same place everyday, dedicating the morning to the Dark Maiden's worship. Reluctant to break into her meditations, the drow male paused for a second before the Seer opened one golden eye and smiled.

"Yes, Ilphinon?"

Almost pitching forwards in his haste, the drow bowed low. "Mother Seer – it's the Jallil d'Ssussun... she's alive!"

Blinking, the Seer rose to her feet in one, fluid motion.

"What?"

"Jenalil Allomann is no longer dead."

Gathering her silken skirts into her hands with a look that was both shocked and determined, the Seer said nothing more and just ran.

o0o

Waiting for the Seer to arrive seemed to take an age for Nathyrra; holding Jen close to her, she tried to warm her ice cold body and stop her shivering, but as she did so, she saw with mounting alarm that whilst the half elf had seemingly miraculously been brought back to life, she would soon be dead again if she continued to bleed the way she was - the wound upon her chest was still open and now looking bloody and raw once again, her vital fluids leaking through her white gown and seeping into the drow's own clothing.

Hearing hurried footsteps, the assassin looked up and blew a sigh of panicked relief when she saw the Seer enter the room, looking uncharacteristically worried. Kneeling immediately by her Faithful's side, the older female gently took Jen by her shoulders and rolled her once again onto her back; shaking her head and frowning, the Seer glanced back up at Nathyrra, her golden eyes grave.

"How did this happen?" she whispered as she quickly fumbled for the holy symbol of her goddess from under her robes. "I thought she was lost..."

"I don't know," the assassin answered, still bewildered by everything. "I was going to my room when I heard a crash-"

Nodding, the Seer cut Nathyrra off as the half elf's body twisted in painful contortions. "She isn't going to last like this!" she muttered desperately. "Whatever brought her back has not healed her – her body is trying to reject her. We need help," she looked desperately up at her Faithful. "Send for Qylirr and the other Devout just in case, and fetch water and clean cloth."

"What about Deekin? And Valen?"

The Seer shook her head. "No – the last thing I need is the two of them here; they are both too emotionally invested." She gave Nathyrra a gentle smile. "Which, in all honesty, is true for you as well." She looked back to Jen. "Now go! I do not know how much time we have!"

Nodding, the assassin jumped up and ran out of the room as quickly as she could.

Without pausing to watch her passage, the Seer then focused all of her attention upon the trembling form of the half elf laying upon the floor in front of her. 

"Where have you been?" she whispered as she smoothed her hair back from her face. "Are the bonds of the prison you hold within so strong that even death cannot take you? Did she fear that much that the Remnant would escape too soon?"

Sighing, she took the collar of Jen's white robe and ripped it asunder with a practised hand, giving her access to the now oozing wound upon her chest. Closing her eyes, she beseeched her goddess for aid; feeling the familiar tingle deep within her heart as her prayer was answered, the Seer opened golden eyes that now seemed to glow and laid a soft hand directly onto the wound, murmuring the final words of the blessing as she did so to discharge its healing energies. 

Convulsing again, Jen's body jerked upwards as her flesh began to knit together with a violence even that the Seer found slightly disturbing; obviously Eilistraee was as keen to heal the half elf as much as she was, lending her spell more power than usual. Gritting her teeth as she fought to maintain the conduit her goddess had granted her, the ancient drow tried to slow the healing energies, knowing that healing this rapidly could actually cause untold agony, a fact that was now mirrored in Jen's continued convulsions. Sensing rather than hearing other people enter the room and spread out around her, she felt her burden of healing lift somewhat as her close circle of Devotees linked hands and took some of the strain from her; finding it now much easier to control the energies granted to her, she opened her eyes and looked at the pale form of the half elf laying within their healing circle. 

The wound upon her chest had all but closed; nothing remained of it other than a reddening of the skin along her sternum, and her arms, once crisped and blackened, were pale and whole again, the thin, vine-like scars that crawled up her forearms the only testament to their former, almost skeletal state. Leaning forwards, the Seer rested her head against the half elf's breast and listened to the now strong, steady beating of her heart and her rapid yet stable breathing; smiling in relief, the high priestess sat back upon her heels and nodded to the other priestesses appreciatively.

"Thank you; all of you. It seems as if she is now out of danger." She then looked back down to Jen, who, although now physically whole, was still unconscious. "It will take a while for her to recover from such an ordeal; we should move her to a more comfortable location where she can be monitored. I am sure her friends will oblige." She then regarded each one of her Devout, her expression now grave. "I do not know what has transpired here; I shall petition our Lady for as much information as possible, but whatever happens, we must still remember our vow; whatever happens, Jenalil must not be told of her purpose beyond that of our Saviour. At the moment, her ignorance protects her... it is vital that we remember this, no matter what she asks us. Say nothing."

o0o

Opening a bleary eye, the sprawled figure of Valen tried to clear the fog of sleep from his mind and figure out exactly what that sharp, rapping noise that echoed so painfully in his head was. Stretching a little, he sat up and cradled his face in his hands for a moment before absent-mindedly raking his fingers through his long, blood-red hair, untangling it from around his horns so that his locks once again lay flat against his skull. 

Yawning mightily, he padded groggily over to the door, all the while trying to piece together the events of the previous day; as snippets of information slowly slid into place, he felt his whole stomach drop as he remembered what he had to face today.

Jen's funeral.

Gritting his teeth against that realisation, he grasped the door handle and turned it, his mind obviously elsewhere. 

Standing outside his room was one of the Seer's priestesses, looking a little harried, yet excited nonetheless; this expression flickered to one of appreciative surprise for some reason before she spoke, her melodious voice tight yet joyful.

"Weapon Master – the Seer wishes your presence. The Jallil d'Ssussun... she is alive!"

Giving the priestess a confused look at first, Valen felt his something in his chest suddenly tighten at her unexpected words.

"What did you say?" he answered eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I said Jenalil is alive and the Seer requests your presence immediately," she repeated, shaking her head a little in exasperation, all the while grinning inexplicably. 

"Jen's alive?" Grasping the much smaller drow by her shoulders, the tiefling gave her a shake just in case she was lying – or he was dreaming. Saying nothing, the priestess just nodded dumbly.

Glancing almost wistfully up the corridor, Valen flashed the drow his most winning smile before near bounding up the corridor in a blur of crimson.

Shaking her head again, this time in amusement, the priestess called after him. 

"Weapon Master!"

Slowing before he turned the corner, the tiefling glanced back. "What?"

Now allowing herself a most lascivious grin as her eyes travelled the length of his body, Qilyrr quirked an eyebrow. "As much as I am sure both the Seer and Jenalil would appreciate you in your current state... maybe some clothes might be in order?"

Glancing down at himself, the tiefling's cheeks flushed almost purple as he realised what she referred to; in his dazed state, he had completely forgotten that he had slept naked. Trying desperately to cup his hands over himself to regain what little dignity he had left, he shuffling sideways and grinned nervously at the priestess before backing into his room and closed the door with a nod.

Rolling her eyes, Qilyrr pursed her lips in appreciation one last time before smiling to herself and wandering back down the corridor, a decidedly distracted yet amused air about her.

o0o

Finding a crumpled pair of light cotton breeches stuffed into his cupboard, the tiefling quickly stepped into them before bolting out of his room again. Slowing his run to a rather more dignified pace as he hit the stairs that led to the main temple, he strode his way down, trying to calm the small bud of nerves that had blossomed within his chest.

Entering the inner sanctum where Jen's body had been laid to rest, he pulled himself up short as he was faced with one of the initiates cleaning up a mess of blood and something rather more visceral in nature from the floor; frowning a little, he felt the bubble of warmth he had been experiencing melt away and be replaced with a twinge of dread - she may be alive, but in what state...

Looking up as he entered, the initiate dragged a forearm across her forehead, pushing her now-damp fringe of hair from her eyes.

"Yes, Errdegah-chath? How may I help you?"

"Where's Jenalil?" he almost demanded.

Nodding, the initiate stood up. "The Seer said you might come looking. She has been taken to the room that was reserved for her. The Seer-"

"Thank you," the tiefling nodded curtly, cutting her off abruptly before turning tail and marching away, leaving the initiate looking a little bewildered. 

Making his way back up the stairs, the Weapon Master quickly located the room in which Jen had been installed the first time she had arrived at Lith My'athar; lingering for a moment outside, he suddenly felt a little tingle of self doubt as he heard the muffled buzz of voices within.

Any such self doubts were cut short, however when the door in front of him opened.

Smiling at her usually unflappable Commander looking so discomfited, the Seer gestured for Valen to enter. Chewing on his bottom lip a little, the Weapon Master saw that Deekin had already been fetched and was sitting upon the only bed in the room, smiling at a curled up form, talking rapidly in a low voice whilst Nathyrra sat upon a decorated stool to one side. 

There was no one else present. 

Feeling a sudden rush of gratitude that the Deathsinger and his cronies had not yet arrived – indeed, he did not know if they had even been called – the tiefling stepped into the relative quiet of the chamber.

Backing away, the Seer then left the room without a word and closed the door softly behind her.

"Hello, Valen."

Folding his arms over his chest as he heard a familiar voice greet him, Valen stepped a little closer, finally allowing himself to fix his attention upon the coverlet-swaddled figure upon the bed and nodded. 

Smiling a little wanly, Jen glanced at Nathyrra, who grinned back and stood up. "I've got things to attend to... I'll see you later." She then leant forwards briefly embraced the half elf. "If you need anything..."

"... I know who to go to, " Jen finished gratefully.

Nodding with a smile, the assassin then quirked an eyebrow at Deekin and made a short, sharp gesture with her head towards the door. 

It was a gesture that the kobold ignored.

"Deekin..." Nathyrra murmured. "Time to go..."

Still looking adoringly at Jen, the little bard shook his head. "Boss and Deekin gots lots to talk about!" he quipped happily, completely oblivious to the assassin's hints and the way that Valen's face suddenly became as still as a mask as he regarded Nathyrra stonily. 

"It's okay... I only wanted to see the truth with my own eyes. I've got a lot to do..." the tiefling interrupted gruffly, wincing internally as he saw Jen's too-pale face fall a little.

Widening her eyes in silent chastisement, the drow shook her head minutely before stepping closer to the Weapon Master. "I think that can wait, don't you?" 

Leaning away from the assassin a little, Valen shrugged a little helplessly. "It can?"

"Yes," she hissed, glancing back to Jen, who was pulling her blankets around herself protectively. "I think it can." She then raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "Go and say 'hello' to Jen." She leant a little closer. "And don't screw it up!"

Swallowing hard, the tiefling eyed Nathyrra a little in owlish surprise, but chose to say nothing. 

"Deekin!" the drow called in a commanding voice. "I need you to help me... come on."

"But-"

"Deekin..."

Sighing, the kobold offered Jen a conciliatory look before glancing towards Valen, who had the courtesy to look away, vaguely embarrassed; the little reptilian bard's attention then slid back towards the half elf.

"Deekin goes help Nathyrra," he agreed slowly, a slightly smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he jumped off the bed and scampered towards the door, pausing in front of the tiefling with an amused look upon his face. "Goatman look after Boss, okay?"

Feeling his cheeks begin to burn, Valen glanced towards the ceiling, drawing his arms even tighter around himself before he stared threateningly at the kobold, saying nothing.

Completely unphased by the tiefling's hostile gesture and grinning toothily, Deekin followed an equally amused looking Nathyrra out of the room, leaving the half elf and the Weapon Master alone.

Clearing his throat, Valen shrugged his shoulders again awkwardly. "So, you're all right?"

Jen returned his shrug. "I seem to be." She then stifled a yawn with one hand. "I'm shattered, but apart from that..."

The tiefling nodded. "Oh. I guess... I guess I should let you sleep, then." He then turned to grasp the door handle.

"No – wait... you don't have to go," Jen started, leaning forwards a little as if to get out of bed. "Please... don't... don't go."

Pausing for a short while, the tiefling closed his eyes briefly before turning back to face her. Taking in her earnest expression, he was immediately struck by how huge and luminous her eyes looked at that point; realising that there was no way he could bring himself to leave her when she was looking at him in this way, he smiled a little and shook his head before making his way towards the bed and perching stiffly upon the end of it.

Feeling something sink within her, Jen tried to stop her face from falling a little as she watched the Weapon Master almost reluctantly join her; drawing her knees up to her chin protectively, she regarded him for a moment before speaking, determined to say something just to break the painful silence that was building up between them.

"Why aren't you dressed properly?" she asked, immediately regretting it when Valen's eyebrows shot up his head in surprise at her artless question. Cringing a little, she blushed and shook her head. "Okay, you should probably ignore that..."

Much to her surprise, the tiefling just chuckled. "It's okay; I'm used to it by now."

"Used to what?" she asked, in spite of herself.

"Your complete inability to keep your thoughts to yourself and not say whatever just pops into your head."

"Oh."

Smiling a little lopsidedly, Valen drew his legs up underneath himself. "Like I said, it's okay; if anything, it proves we've got the real you back." He then gave her a long look, causing the half elf to glance self consciously at the blankets that covered her. "You... you really scared me, you know."

Looking up sharply at this confession, Jen jerked her head back in surprise. "I did?"

The tiefling nodded. "Yes. What you did was stupid."

Feeling her hopes turn to ice within her, Jen bit her bottom lip and looked down. "I know. I wasn't thinking."

Shifting his weight a little so that he was sat a little closer to her, the Weapon Master leant forwards and hesitantly stretched a hand out towards her, lifting her chin gently with his fingertips, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I'm not chastising you," he murmured. "It was stupid, yes... but it was necessary. I just wish you'd thought of yourself a bit more, that's all." He then dropped his hand."I saw you drop from the sky - you weren't... dead when I found you. I couldn't help you, though. You... died, and all I could do was watch."

Feeling a lump well up in her throat at his stark portrayal of events, Jen shook her head. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered a little hoarsely. "I didn't want you to fight; things had gone too far, and I just wanted them to end. I know it was reckless..."

Valen nodded with a small, rueful smile as he felt something small yet intensely sharp swell within him at her admittance that it was concern for his safety that had spurred her actions. "Yes..." he sighed, "it was reckless and stupidly noble of you." He then paused, spending a moment to pick almost absent-mindedly at the edge of the blanket that Jen was swathed in whilst he sought for the right words to express his next sentiment. "Jen – I want you to promise me something," he said eventually, his tone serious. "I never want you to do something like that for me again. I can look after myself; I never, ever want you to endanger yourself like that again. Do you... do you understand me?"

"But-" Jen tried to interrupt, but the tiefling continued, overriding her.

"No; I mean it – promise me."

At this, the half elf gave him an imploring look before shaking her head. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't stand by and just watch-"

"Please."

His final request, although hardly above a whisper, held a note of beseeching command that caused Jen look away and close her eyes in resignation. "Okay," she conceded eventually. "I'll try. I can't promise... but I'll try."

Nodding grimly, the tiefling straightened himself up. "We can talk later. You should rest now," he said gruffly. "You look awful."

Smiling a little sadly, Jen chuckled wryly under her breath. "Thank you, Valen; you're such a charmer..."

Lifting a corner of his lips into a lopsided grin, the tiefling offered her one of his few genuine smiles. "It's the truth... you need sleep." His smile then froze and took on a strange, almost nervous edge. "If you're up later, I might drop in and see you?"

Surprised at his request, the half elf nodded slowly. "I think I'd like that," she replied with a small smile of her own.

Nodding back stiffly, the tiefling slammed his fists deep into his pockets as he made his way to the door. Sinking back down into the covers, Jen allowed herself a small, incredibly secret smile as she watched him retreat; turning back briefly, he nodded jerkily again as if unsure what to say next.

"Uh, rest well," he said eventually as he opened the door to let himself out.

"I will," Jen replied, still smiling.


	34. Desire, Treason and Plot

Chapter 34 – Desire, Treason and Plot

"I have an urgent message for Xen'shai Aleanath. I was told I might find him here?"

Raising a sceptical eyebrow, the Madam of the dockside brothel regarded the pitifully pious follower of Eilistraee disdainfully. "There is no one here of that name and even if there was, you know we value discretion over all," she drawled in reply, inspecting the many rings that adorned her delicate fingers. "I suggest you try the barracks."

Scowling slightly, Ilphinon shook his head a little belligerently. "No. I've been there – Aleanath's comrades told me that he came here last night and that they haven't seen him since. If he is here, I _must _speak with him; it is of utmost importance. I come with news from the Seer."

Staring levelly at the younger male for a long moment, the drow Madam finally rolled her eyes and gestured for him to enter with an impatient flick of her be-ringed hand. "Wait here," she said brusquely. "I shall see if this is indeed the case."

Striding off, the Madam began to mutter under her breath as she made her way to the room she had rented to the Deathsinger late the previous evening; standing in front of the door, she smoothed back her complicated arrangement of curls and braids and tapped smartly upon the door.

"Jaluk? You have a visitor."

For a long moment, she actually wondered if he had slipped out quietly during the night, or if this wasn't the case, that she was going to have to barge into the room and wake him when she heard the unmistakeable sound of someone groan and pad their way over the the door. Opening it a crack, the bard regarded her through sleepy, narrowed eyes.

"I thought my gold might at least secure me the room-"

"There is a wanre here for you," the Madam interrupted sharply. "He says that he delivers a message from the Seer."

"The Seer?" Xen'shai frowned.

"Yes. He says it's of utmost importance."

Opening the door wide, the Deathsinger eyed the Madam warily whilst she took a moment to run an openly appreciative glance over his toned torso before standing aside to let him pass. Irritated that she had done this as it reminded him of his time with House Aleanath where he was nothing more than a toy for the female's entertainment, Xen'shai offered her a hostile look back before dragging a creased, slightly grubby tunic over his head and barged past the Madam rudely. Smirking to himself as he heard her gasp in indignation, the Deathsinger strode along the corridor, wondering exactly what it was the Seer would want with him.

Entering the lobby, a nervous looking male scurried over to him and stiffly inclined his head in greeting.

"Xen'shai Aleanath?"

Xen'shai narrowed his eyes again and nodded stiffly.

"The Seer has sent me to inform you that she requests your presence, and that the Jallil d'Ssussun is alive." 

Taking a physical step backwards, the Deathsinger felt something within his chest leap upwards. "Jenalil is... alive?"

Ilphinon nodded. "Yes. We are... unsure as to the exact method of her resurrection, but Ku'nal Nathyrra discovered her earlier on. I was sent to the barracks to inform you, but your comrades said you were here-"

"Yes, yes, not important," Xen'shai interrupted, glancing to the door of the brothel impatiently. "Where is she now?"

"Still within the Temple."

Nodding curtly, the Deathsinger said nothing more and simply strode away, back to his room, leaving Ilphinon to shrug his shoulders and slip away quietly.

o0o

_So this is why Vhaeraun hadn't sent any retribution... because she wasn't actually dead! _

_But how could that be? Her body... burnt and broken..._

_Where did she go?_

Making his way back to the sanctuary of his rented room so he could pack his meagre belongings, the Deathsinger tried to puzzle his way through this most perplexing conundrum. Taking a moment, he checked his door; seeing that no one waited in the corridor, he flicked the latch and locked himself in before drawing out a midnight-black cloth from a secret pocket deep within his backpack. Tying the cloth around his head so that it covered his eyes, Xen'shai took a deep breath, knelt upon the floor and prepared himself for the risky business of asking for divine guidance from his most capricious god.

"Vel'klar l'Barra z'hine lu'ilstaren..."

Feeling a pressure build up behind his eyes, the Deathsinger forced himself to be still as a strange, insidious presence wound itself around his body in an almost seductive manner, causing him to shiver.

_She Is Still My Desire._

Rocking back on his heels a little, Xen'shai tried to calm his suddenly pounding heart. Usually, any such enquiries were met with vague hints or a stony silence; to be answered this swiftly – and this directly - spoke volumes to the Deathsinger regarding his Lord's will. 

"My Lord Shadow, I know this-"

_I Must Possess What Is Contained Within._

"Yes, My Lord," Xen'shai replied obsequiously. "This is what I strive for."

_That Is All._

With that, the presence fled.

Panting a little, the Deathsinger slowly peeled back the cloth from his face, pushed his long, silvery hair from his sweating brow and stood up; glancing at himself in the tarnished yet ornate mirror that hug above the open fireplace, he almost fell over backwards as he caught sight of his reflection.

Dancing in front of his eyes was a dark, shimmering shadow which made him look for all the world as if he was wearing a mask.

Recognising this as the highest mark of the Masked Lord's favour, Xen'shai fell to his knees once more, muttering words of thanks and praise to his most generous deity as something unfathomable yet distinct whispered past his left ear.

_No Longer Faithful... Now Chosen._

_Do Not Fail Me..._

o0o

Watching the snivelling follower of Eilistraee leave before frowning in obvious annoyance, Tsabandiir sidled quickly to Jehk'ril's side. He had joined his so-called comrades after spending some time on his own, seeking answers from his Lord; rather than what he sought, however, all he was granted was a stony wall of silence and a lancing headache, which he knew was never a good sign.

Usually, he would have approached Rizonym, but the scarred fighter has made it quite plain recently where his loyalties now lay; the Darkmask's suggestion that perhaps the surfacer should perhaps meet with a possible accident down in the slave pens of Zorvak'Mur had caused an argument that he knew they would never recover from... and quite frankly, he was happy this was the case. Although his relationship had been physically satisfying, he had always been rather suspicious that Rizonym's dedication to Vhaeraun had been nothing more than mere lip service; he had overlooked this point all the while the tall warrior had entertained him with talents honed over years of servitude, but now that his Lord needed him, the Darkmask could no longer lie to himself – to be with a faithless male was something the Masked Lord would not tolerate, and after Rizonym had failed his test of loyalty by refusing to murder the surfacer female on his behalf, he knew there was no way they could remain together.

His interest in the mage did not solely lie with what he kept in his breeches, however. Now was not the time for the delicate dance of courtship, nor even for the immediate gains of physical gratification; now was the time to speak with one who understood – and one who quite possibly shared - many of his own concerns and grievances. 

As Rizonym and Szinaufein talked excitedly amongst themselves, pulling boots on and strapping on weapons in preparation to go and see the miracle of the surfacer's return for themselves, Jehk'ril watched with a calculating, almost disapproving air about him before raising an eyebrow at the cleric's approach enquiringly.

"We must speak," hissed the Darkmask quietly. "When they leave..."

Nodding slowly as he continued to watch the other two males, the mage agreed.

Looking over to the cleric and the mage, Szinaufein, still smiling broadly, all but bounded over like an overgrown puppy to enquire if they were coming with him and Rizonym; shaking his head almost ruefully, Jehk'ril indicated by holding up his spellbook and a quill that he had spells to scribe, whilst Tsabandiir just shook his head sharply and said nothing.

Looking a little crestfallen, the younger male gave them both a rather beseeching look. "But Jenalil... she's alive. Surely you can wait..."

"If I do not do this now, the spell will not be ready for when we leave," Jehk'ril answered, shaking his head sadly. "Jenalil would understand. Please; send her my warmest regards and tell her I will be along to see her very soon."

Wandering up behind the ranger, Rizonym narrowed his eyes at Tsabandiir before whispering something into Szinaufein's sharply pointed ear; looking up at the older male, the ranger shrugged a little, nodded and then turned and followed the fighter out of the room.

Taking a moment to ensure that they had both left, Tsabandiir stalked over to the door and took a surreptitious look outside before closing and latching it securely.

Shaking his head in amusement, Jehk'ril placed his spellbook upon the floor. "What is bothering you, Olathorbdrin? Worried your bit of rough is interested in a much younger version?"

Scowling, Tsabandiir folded his arms over his chest. "Nothing of the sort. I want to speak to you about the current turn of events."

"I take it you're referring to Jenalil's return?" Jehk'ril gave the Darkmask a thoughtful look. "It is a shock indeed..."

"Yes," Tsabandiir agreed, beginning to pace the room. "Her return bothers me greatly. I know you at least are Faithful; I beseeched our Lord for information, but He was not forthcoming... something else is at work here, and I for one do not like it."

"What do you mean?"

"This stinks of a plot, with the Dark Witch at its heart," the Darkmask continued, his tone conspiratorial. "The surfacer has help from somewhere."

"The Seer said Eilistraee could not help her..." the mage said doubtfully."Maybe she has protection elsewhere?"

"Maybe so... but whatever it is, I do not think her return is a good thing."

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Jehk'ril's face grew still. "And just what do you mean by that?"

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, the Darkmask knew he had to tread carefully; he suspected that the mage was growing tired of his brother's devotion to the surfacer female and her cause, but at the same time, he was not entirely sure. Taking a deep breath, he regarded the stained ceiling above his head as if seeking divine guidance before continuing.

"She dictates our every move... and on what? I am one of our Lord's most Faithful... and I have had no indication that we are acting with his blessing." He gave Jehk'ril a significant look. "We only have one word; that of your brother."

Regarding Tsabandiir closely for a long moment, the mage finally nodded. "I know. It has concerned me for a while. At first, I thought it would be... amusing; play the game, seduce the female, sow a few seeds of dissension amongst the ranks of the followers of Eilistraee... but it is beyond that now. Far beyond."

Nodding fervently, the Darkmask agreed. "Indeed it is. We follow this surfacer blindly; and why?" Tsabandiir suddenly closed the distance between himself and the mage and knelt by his knee. "Because of your brother's bizarre predilections. Even if he does have the Shadow's blessing-"

"Which we know he does," Jehk'ril interrupted warily.

"-which we know he does," conceded Tsabandiir reluctantly, "how do we know all of this is connected to that and not just his desire to spread his seed amongst the surfacer wenches?" The Darkmask's demeanour suddenly look on a wild cast. "We all know our Lord's precepts! The mingling of blood is allowed... but is that worth our dignity? This surfacer could cost us _everything_! She leads us into a trap – mark my words. For one, the Seer places too much trust in her... and if she does succeed, where does that leave us? The power of the Dark Witch simply grows! How does that help our most exalted Lord?" The drow cleric leant closer to the mage. "It leaves Him with nothing. Xen'shai leads us to ruin, my friend - he will demand that we side with this... this female once again and do her bidding just as lapdogs trot at the heels of their mistress'. We cannot allow this to happen."

Leaning away a little from the rather overzealous Darkmask, Jehk'ril nodded slowly. "I can see you've been thinking about this for some time, abbil... why do you come to me?"

Sitting back on his heels, Tsabandiir regarded the younger male steadily. "Because I have seen the way you look when your brother is wooing that surfacer." He gave Jehk'ril a significant look. "You look less than pleased. At first, I wondered if it was jealousy... but recently, I have begun to suspect it is something else entirely."

Narrowing his eyes at the cleric, the mage folded his arms over his chest defensively. "And what do you believe it is?"

"Worry," Tsabandiir said flatly. "Anger. Concern. Your brother wishes nothing more than to seduce the surfacer; he is playing nothing more than a delicious game, where there is no winner other than himself. This female is of no interest to the Shadow; as one of his Olathorbdrinnen, I would have been informed, not a lowly Elghinnsunduiri. He convinced us to join him under the false pretence that this female can in some way aid our cause, but the more time I spend in her company, the more I am convinced she is nothing more than a vapid, useless target for his degenerate desires."

"She is supposed to be the downfall of the Valsharess..." Jehk'ril countered, raising an eyebrow, "and her magic is stronger than anything I have ever encountered-"

"Yes, yes, I know. But Jehk'ril – she does not work in our favour. Eilistraee... the Valsharess... it does not matter who wins; either way, we lose!"

"So what do you suggest?" the mage asked seriously, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "Withdrawing our support?"

Allowing himself a sly smile, Tsabandiir gave the mage a small shake of his head. "Not exactly... but before I make my suggestion, I must have your assurance that your blood ties with Xen'shai will not cloud your judgement – nor your devotion to the Shadow – in all of this. What I suggest is for the good of our Lord and his Faithful everywhere... It is only to serve His cause. Is that clear?"

Giving the Darkmask a wary look, Jehk'ril nodded slowly. "I must admit, I... agree with your assessment of Xen'shai's actions; I have tried to tell him as such, but he tells me I am being ridiculous, but I know him too well – I see the light in his eyes when he speaks with her. So tell me your plan, Tsabandiir, and we shall see where it takes us..."

o0o

Sitting impatiently in the lobby of the temple the Seer was using as a base of operations, Deekin strummed his lyre, trying to compose a song in his rasping voice that fully encompassed his feelings regarding Jen's return from the dead. So far, he had the title – The Miraculous Return of Boss – and a few lines written, but he kept getting distracted by the many drow that milled around, going about their usual routines.

"And Boss did flame; like mighty fireball; and down did Boss fall; only to rise agaaaaiiiin..." the kobold croaked, trying with his fingers to find the right chords to express both his sadness at her passing, but also his extreme happiness at having her back before glancing up at the replica of the spire that was atop the temple, trying to guess how long it had been since he had left her side.

Suddenly, the outer doors were flung open, and the striding figure of the Deathsinger entered, looking determinedly about himself. Frowning a little, Deekin stopped playing and watched warily as Xen'shai accosted a passing initiate, obviously looking for someone. Getting his answer, the drow bard nodded sharply and made his way to where the Seer was currently engaged in discussions regarding the recent sighting of the Valsharess' troops near the city; the kobold knew this, because he had spent an informative half an hour sitting under a large, decorative mushroom that was growing in a pot, eavesdropping.

Deciding not to approach the obviously agitated Deathsinger, Deekin sat back into the gloom and watched his progress with some interest. Only half an hour earlier, the cheerful young drow and the tall, quiet one had left after saying a brief welcome to Jen; the Seer wished for the half elf to rest, but at the same time, recognised that her comrades needed to be able to welcome her back, and so was keeping the visits short for the time being. However, his attempts to hide were in vain; spotting the kobold, Xen'shai diverted his path and raised a hand before marching over to him.

"Kobold! Deekin!" he hissed, a determined air about him. "Is it true?"

Glancing at the Deathsinger with wide, innocent eyes, the little bard shrugged his thin, scaly shoulders. "Is what true? Deekin not know what Xen'shai talks about."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Xen'shai bit back a reprimand. "Is it true that Jenalil is alive?"

Deekin paused a moment before nodding, reluctant to tell the Deathsinger the truth; when it came down to it, the little bard simply didn't like Xen'shai much, especially after he had upset Jen so much in Zorvak'Mur. "Yes. Boss is okay, sleeping now. The drow lady says she must sleep now – no visitors."

"No visitors?" The drow bard looked up the flight of stairs that led to where the personal quarters were located. "That's ridiculous. I... I need to see her. Where is her room?"

Knowing full well that if he said he didn't know Xen'shai would know he was lying, Deekin sighed a little through his nose and slumped his shoulders. "Xen'shai follows Deekin; Deekin shows him. But Xen'shai must not be long! Boss needs sleep... Xen'shai says 'hello' and then he leaves, okay?"

Surprised at the commanding, almost possessive tone the kobold had taken with him, the Deathsinger frowned and nodded curtly. "I understand. I only wish to see her return with my own eyes, that is all."

Nodding back, Deekin led the drow up the central flight of stairs and, veering left, led him along a long, dimly lit corridor, around a couple of corners and up another flight of stairs before standing in front of a plain looking door. Tapping upon it with his claws, he then paused, as if waiting for a response.

"Boss..." he croaked through the wood when none came. "Is you awake? Deekin brings a visitor..."

Pushing the kobold bard roughly out of the way, Xen'shai grasped the door handle and made to enter, causing Deekin to bristle. "No! Xen'shai not just barge into mighty Boss' room!" he snapped. 

"Deekin," the Deathsinger replied with a conciliatory tone of voice. "If she is a sleep, then she will not answer – I just wish to see. I shall not be long."

With that, he opened the door and slipped inside the room, closing the door in the kobold's face.

Muttering to himself angrily, Deekin tried to force the door open, but a soft click from inside the room told him that Xen'shai had locked himself in, effectively barring the kobold's entrance. Taking in a deep, angry breath at being thwarted in this way, Deekin rattled the handle before spending a few moments with his ear pressed up against the wood; not hearing anything, he frowned slightly as he weighed up his options. 

All of a sudden, a small smile that had nothing to do with amusement curled at the corners of his reptilian mouth as he scampered away down the corridor; in situations like this, he knew exactly what to do – or rather, who to fetch...

o0o

Running a hand over his mouth, the Deathsinger paused after locking the door behind him to prevent that eternal nuisance of a kobold following him; what he had to accomplish was delicate enough without the complication of the uncouth reptilian bard making life harder than it had to be.

For a long moment, Xen'shai just watched the slumbering form laying upon the bed in front of him; if he had not been told it was Jenalil, he would never have guessed since, for all intents and purposes, she was nothing more than a lump covered in furs and blankets.

Stepping lightly forward, he decided that he wasn't going to awaken her quite yet; instead, he stretched out one ebon hand and drew the covers back as far as he dared, uncovering first her face, then her shoulders and finally the rest of her body. Cocking his head to one side, he could see that she looked pale yet peaceful, her oddly expressive green-gold eyes now closed, her full lips slightly parted, her chestnut hair a wild tangle of curls that spilled over the pillow in dark waves. Sweeping back her hair from her face, the Deathsinger smiled to himself as she fidgeted in her sleep with a small sigh before settling back down, one hand now curled up to the side of her face in an strangely endearing manner. 

Kneeling down by the side of the bed, Xen'shai just watched her for a moment, watching her thinly clad breast rise and fall steadily as she slept on, oblivious to his scrutiny, before he leant in closely and kissed her gently upon the corner of her mouth, causing her to frown a little and raise a sleepy hand to bat him away. Grinning to himself, the Deathsinger caught her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

"Jenalil... are you awake?"

Feeling someone touch her, Jen turned her head slightly and slowly fought her way up through the warm, pink layers of sleep as a small, decidedly self-satisfied smile curled her lips. 

"I thought you said you'd come by later..." she murmured as she tried to open her eyes languorously.

"What are you talking about?" Xen'shai whispered back, shifting his weight so that he was as close to her as possible, her relaxed state giving him some measure of confidence that she would invite him into the warm sanctuary of her bed.

"What?" she replied sleepily, taking a moment to stretch. "It was your idea..." 

Willing her mind to clear, the half elf tried to focus upon the figure that sat so near and so intimately with her; taking in his dark skin, slight stature and green eyes, Jen then gasped as her eyes slammed open and her head jerked back involuntarily in surprise. 

"Xen'shai!" she gasped, scrambling to cover herself once again. "I... I didn't know it was you!"

Regarding her with an amused smile which betrayed none of his sudden inner watchfulness, the Deathsinger chuckled. "Who were you expecting, jallil?"

"N-no one," Jen replied quickly, holding the covers to her chin. "Why?"

"You said that you'd thought I'd said I'd come by later, and that it was all my idea..."

"D-did I? Oh. Must have been dreaming..." she smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry. Happens sometimes – I used to sleep talk as a child, and I sometimes still do it when I'm in stressful situations..."

Smiling again, Xen'shai shook his head and went to cup her chin with his hand, which she shied away from slightly, regarding him warily. Sighing inwardly, the Deathsinger realised that snatched from the jaws of death or not, she had not forgotten the last time they had been alone...

"I... simply came to see how you were faring. The Seer sent a messenger to me, telling me of your resurrection... that you have been returned to us is beyond my wildest hopes and dreams. Ussta Jallil – I merely wished to confirm his good news with my own eyes. That is all."

Nodding slowly, some of the tension she held in her body drained away as he spoke; as much as she hated it, his flattering words soothed her a little. Shrugging her shoulders, she offered him a self-depreciating smile in return.

"Well... I'm back. I didn't mean to worry anyone..."

"Jenalil – my worry knew no bounds; to see you slip away before my very eyes was a torture indeed-" Seeing a slight frown that creased her forehead at his carefully orchestrated words caused Xen'shai to pull up short. "What is wrong?"

"You saw me die? But I was told..." she shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

At this, the Deathsinger returned her frown. "What were you told?"

"Nothing; honestly. The last few hours or so have been a bit of a blur, to be honest... I'm absolutely shattered." She then yawned mightily to punctuate her point, all of a sudden for some inexplicable reason feeling quite keen for the drow bard to leave the room; there seemed to be something odd about him – something slightly different that she could not quite put her finger on... an eagerness to his actions that she found a little disturbing in her currently exhausted state. "I'm sorry, Xen'shai, but I really need to sleep. I'm not thinking straight at the moment; is it all right if we talk later?"

Feeling a little disappointed, the Deathsinger just nodded at first and said nothing before offering her a rueful, wistful look. "Of course it is – we have much to discuss." He then glanced away, almost nervously, before giving her the sincerest look she had ever seen grace his features. "There is just one thing I would like to say, however..."

Sensing the odd confusion of hope and reluctance within him, Jen leant a little closer to him with no small measure of concern evident upon her face. "What is it, Xen'shai?"

Sighing as if battling with something deep within his conscience, Xen'shai looked to the ceiling for a moment before taking one of her hands in his; this time, she did not pull away. "Jenalil... before... before you passed on, I behaved in a way that could be construed as... unseemly." He shook his head in self chastisement. "I merely wished to show you how much you mean to me... to express my deepest devotion... to worship you..." Fixing her now shocked, flushed countenance with his deep green gaze, the Deathsinger smiled. "I was not seeking my own gratification, jallil... to be the one who allowed you to seek yours would have been enough."

Swallowing hard, Jen ran a nervous tongue over her now dry lips, completely at a loss as to how to reply to this. "Oh."

Nodding sincerely, Xen'shai continued. "Maybe... one day...?"

Shrugging her shoulders helplessly, completely unsure as to how to answer such a question without it making it sound like a blatant invitation, the half elf chose to remain silent.

Smiling again, this time with a knowing hint behind it, Xen'shai inclined his head to her. "I can understand your... reluctance, ussta Jallil. Just know that I am sorry; I am... unused to the way surfacers express such devotion, and so fell back upon the ways I am familiar with - the ways of the drow. But now, you must sleep." 

Leaning forward, he made to kiss her again, but much to his surprise and annoyance, she raised a hand and covered his mouth, preventing his lips from touching hers in any way.

"I... I don't think that's a good idea right now, Xen'shai... it's nothing personal, but I have a lot to think about." She offered him an apologetic half-smile. "And you're right – I must sleep. I'm sorry."

Biting back a frustrated sigh at her continuing prudish behaviour, Xen'shai forced another smile onto his face and nodded in what he hoped was an understanding manner as he stood up a little stiffly. "Of course. Sleep well; I shall see you when you are refreshed."

Stifling another yawn behind one hand, the half elf grinned sleepily, pulled the covers over herself once again and lay back. "See you soon, 'shai. G'night." She then sighed and turned over, so that her back was to him.

Rolling his eyes slightly and forcing himself not to clench his fists, the Deathsinger regarded her once-more slumbering form for a long while before dragging his fingers through his hair and leaving.

o0o

Waiting for him to exit the room, Jen continued to pretend to fall asleep, hoping that Xen'shai would take the hint and leave. Hearing the door click and his soft footfalls disappear up the corridor outside her room, the half elf rolled back onto her back and sighed heavily.

_Why wasn't life ever easy? Why the sudden interest in her? _

_...You said never again, remember? _

Back home, her mixed heritage meant most of the young men in her village saw her as a curiosity; being the only half elf, the one thing she wasn't seen as was suitable marriage material, meaning that everyone she'd ever had any kind of relationship with invariably ended up running off with someone more appropriate in the end – some one who, when it came down to it, their mothers would approve of. 

Jen wasn't that girl. Her father had – rather misguidedly, perhaps – given her an elven name in honour of her dead mother, which had instantly marked her as something different, and her slower maturity had meant she hadn't really been able to relate to other children her age; by the time she had come to realise what it was the other girls giggled about behind their hands as the young men came in from harvest, sweating and posing, they had all settled down together, leaving her a little lost and just more than a little confused. 

Then she had met Ciaran.

At twenty, he'd been two years older than her; he'd come to Forestside as an apprentice blacksmith, and had swept her off her feet. She had just begun her training as a militia scout – something else that often put the young men in her village off – but Ciaran hadn't seemed to mind; with his easy manner and ready smile, he called her his 'elven beauty' and had taken her maidenhood on Midsummer's Eve in respect of this, or so he said. 

A month after this, she caught him rolling in a hayloft with the pretty blonde barmaid of The Old Trout, a tavern in the next village.

Rather embarrassingly, she'd ended up burning down the entire barn in her fury at his infidelity.

She had been devastated – heartbroken – and had left to train under Drogan Droganson, her dwarven mentor, three months later, still smarting, and had vowed never to allow herself to be used in that way again. 

It was this thought that now made her sigh again.

_Never again, you said... but how much did you actually believe that? Dad always said there would be someone else... but a drow?_

_...Or maybe even a tiefling?_

Biting her bottom lip, she allowed her attention to slip firstly to the Deathsinger – who caused her to take a deep breath and release it slowly - and then to the Weapon Master; as she pictured Valen the last time she had seen him – clean-shaven and half dressed – she felt a small jolt within her that simply wasn't there when she recollected Xen'shai. This in turn caused her to blush hotly in the dark; shaking her head and trying to suppress a groan, she turned over and faced the wall to her left, trying to deny the inevitable.

_No. Not him. He's so unpredictable! And you said never again..._

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head firmly and curled herself up into a ball, determined to find sleep, hoping that any dreams she might have would be mercifully abstract and safe and not full of her current, rather secret dilemma.

o0o

Scurrying across the main plaza of Lith My'athar, Deekin hugged his thin arms around himself, aware that hundreds of dark elven eyes turned to regard him as he passed. Feeling decidedly conspicuous, he had considered turning himself invisible just to avoid their scrutiny, but had shaken himself at this thought; he was the proud comrade of Boss, their saviour, coming to find his friend the Weapon Master, their protector. 

He had expected to find the tiefling hanging around the temple, but instead had been informed that he had gone to speak to Imloth to catch up on events in the city; after asking for directions, the kobold had then scampered off, knowing that if anyone could deal with the Deathsinger who seemed so set upon upsetting Boss, it was Valen. 

Slowing to a walk as he approached the training fields, Deekin suffered many disdainful glances as he wove his way past clusters of sparring drow, trying to locate the red-haired warrior, reasoning that since he stood nearly a foot taller than any of them, he wouldn't be too hard to find.

He was wrong.

After a good ten minutes of searching, the kobold decided it was time to start asking questions, but many of the dark elves he tried to accost just ignored him, deeming him below their notice. In the end, Deekin had grown rather angry – after all, who knew what Boss was suffering at the hands of the Deathsinger whilst he wasted time – and in the end, the little bard had physically grabbed one one of them and before he had a chance to say anything in complaint, gabbled out a question. 

"Has you seen Weapon Master who speaks with Imloth?"

Shaking his head in disdainful bewilderment, the drow shrugged his shoulders.

"Has you seen Weapon Master? Valen?"

"Valen? Errdegah – chath?"

Deekin nodded. "Yes, Erdygachath." He then held his fingers up over his head so that they resembled horns. "Him."

Screwing his face up a little in distaste, the drow male pointed to a small covered area to the right of the sparring field before turning back to his equally horrified looking partner, and began sparring again.

Nodding in thanks because he was at heart a polite kobold, Deekin then darted off towards the makeshift tent. Ducking under the canvas, he peered into the relative gloom and immediately saw the tiefling sitting at a table, talking in rapid drow with a dark elf that Deekin recognised from their last time in Lith My'ather – Imloth. Deciding not to stand on ceremony, the kobold approached the table and, without waiting to be invited, patted Valen upon the knee.

"Uhh, Weapon Master..."

Scowling, the tiefling shifted his leg so that Deekin's hand was left patting mid-air and continued to speak to Imloth, who was regarding the kobold with a surprised – if distasteful – look upon his face.

Determined not to be shrugged off, Deekin tried again. 

"Weapon Master!"

Gritting his teeth, Valen glanced at him and shook his head curtly.

Sighing, Deekin straightened himself up and bellowed as loudly as he could. 

"_WEAPON MASTER!"_

"_What!" _hissed the tiefling, trying to keep his composure in front of his fellow commander as he rounded angrily upon the kobold. "What is it!"

"Deekin comes to find Valen because Xen'shai went to see Boss and he locked himself in with Boss and Deekin doesn't know what to do so Deekin came to find Goatman."

Frowning in utmost confusion, Valen shook his head. "What?"

"Deekin comes to find Valen because Xen'shai went to see Boss and he locked himself in with Bo-"

"Yes, I got that," interrupted the Weapon Master impatiently. "What does it all mean?"

Rolling his eyes at the tiefling's inability to grasp even simple concepts, the kobold started again. "Deekin finds Valen. Goatman with Deekin so far?"

Growling under his breath, Valen nodded. 

"Good. Reason for this is that Xen'shai goes to visit Boss. Okay? Before Deekin can do anything, Xen'shai lock himself in Boss' room with Boss. So Deekin comes to find Valen."

"Xen'shai is with Jen?" the tiefling repeated, his voice now dangerously quiet. "And he locked himself in with her?"

Deekin nodded solemnly. 

Standing up with such violence that his his chair scooted backwards and fell over with a resounding crash, the Weapon Master nodded curtly to a rather shocked looking Imloth. "I apologise – there is something I must deal with. I'll be back shortly."

Giving the kobold a grim nod of his head, Valen then strode away purposefully with Deekin trotting at his heels.


	35. Revelations

_I've decided, after re-reading this chapter, that I really don't like the ending of it at all – it's too silly, considering what is going on, so I've decided to re-write it. I'm (hopefully!!) going to be making a WDR website soon (heh, yeah... when I've got five minutes!), so the original chapter will be available there once it is up and running (it'll also be a place I can put cut material, chapters that never went anywhere and anything that is deemed unsuitable for here)._

_I've kept the Laurel and Hardy silliness to a degree (because a little bit of light relief isn't necessarily wrong), but this chapter is now a little less fangirly-silly and, I feel, contributes better to the story overall._

Chapter 35 - Revelations

Slowly sinking back down through the misty, soft layers of sleep, her limbs growing heavy and her eyelids heavier still, Jen finally felt herself relaxing enough to give in completely to slumber. She always loved this, her ability to sleep whilst a small part of her – the elven part, she guessed, since she had been told that many elves did not sleep as humans knew it, but instead meditated in some kind of trance – allowed her to remain aware just enough to appreciate how delicious it all felt if she so wished; giving a little contented sigh, she finally allowed herself to shut down completely and surrender to sweet, warm oblivion.

Suddenly, a resounding crash echoed violently throughout her room, forcing her to sit up with a little scream as her eyes flew open; before she knew it, she was half out of her bed, her legs tangled awkwardly in the covers, her hands searching under her pillow for a convenient dagger. Unable to find such a blade, she searched wildly about herself, trying to ascertain exactly what had happened as she willed her heart to climb down from her throat and settle once more into her chest. Finally, as her initial panic subsided, she was able to focus upon the two figures standing in her doorway: one small, the other tall; the small one looking nervous; the tall one, angry.

"What in the Hells do you think you two are doing?!" she squeaked at last, still panting slightly as Deekin stepped forwards and Valen rubbed the back of his own neck with one hand, now looking a little perturbed and, to her surprise, a little embarrassed. "Do you want to give me a heart attack?"

"Uh, no..." the tiefling started, chewing on his bottom lip a little as he discreetly gave the room a searching look just in case. "I, err, I... Deekin... Deekin said you might be in trouble, and so I... uh, I came to make sure you were all right, that's all."

Kicking Deekin - who had stopped advancing towards Jen upon seeing her angry, shocked expression - the Weapon Master gave the kobold a look that promised murder if he didn't agree with him.

"Uh, yes, Valen is right; Deekin concerned when Deekin sees Xen- ow!"

Swiftly kicking the little bard once again and making a low, growling noise in his throat, the tiefling shook his head sharply, all the while glancing at the mercifully still half-asleep half elf, before giving her a bright grin that was more of a rictus than a smile.

Frowning a little in bemusement, Jen shook her head. "What are you two on about? Why did you just barge in? Why didn't you knock?"

"Deekin was worried that something was wrong with you, and came to find someone; I just happened to be the first person he found," Valen replied, a little too quickly. He then glared once again at the kobold until he began nodding in agreement. "The way he was going on, I thought it was a real emergency... sorry I woke you. We'll be, uh, going now. Sleep well." The tiefling then inclined his head sincerely, grasped Deekin by the back of his jerkin and backed out of the room, dragging the kobold with him before closing the door softly.

Giving the now-closed door a supremely confused look, Jen raised her eyebrows, looked to the ceiling and shook her head in disbelief as she lay back down, wrapping herself once again in the warm blankets of her bed before trying – for a third time – to actually get some rest.

o0o

Leaning heavily against the door once he had closed it, Valen buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily. Hearing the slow, quiet clack of claws against wood, the tiefling lowered his hands to find Deekin trying to sneak away; reaching out, he grasped the kobold firmly by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back, a look of thunder upon his face.

"Xen'shai wasn't in there," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Deekin can see that," the little bard agreed, leaning back slowly as the Weapon Master loomed over him threateningly. "Deekin is thinking Xen'shai left. Deekin is also thinking Deekin might have been a little hasty."

"Oh, do you really think so?" Valen growled sarcastically.

"Well, in Deekin's defence, Valen could have tried door first; he didn't have to barge in like dragon in pottery shop..."

"Not the point!" the Weapon Master snapped back through gritted teeth, trying to suppress the urge to shake the kobold until his teeth rattled in his head. "_You_ came and found _me_, not the other way around! I seriously thought she was in trouble! You have no idea what was going through my head when I approached that door-"

Smirking a little, Deekin interrupted. "Oh, Deekin has a pretty good idea of what was going through Goatman's head-"

"Shut up!" Valen roared, feeling his facial muscles spasm a little in a furious tic before cringing a little and glancing round at the door to the room he had so recently vacated. "Just... shut up," he continued in a quiet growl. "You've made a fool out of me, kobold, a complete and utter fool-" 

"Boss likes honey wine!" Deekin all of a sudden blurted out, cutting off the tiefling, his reptilian eyes huge in their sockets.

"What?" Valen hissed incredulously. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Risking all, the kobold gave the Weapon Master a small yet knowing smile. "Maybe nothing, maybe something, Deekin not know. But maybe Weapon Master can use knowledge to his advantage, and maybe Boss forgets his silly mistake, yes?"

"Are you suggesting I should get her _drunk_?!" Valen replied, a look of distasteful disgust crossing his features.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the kobold finally plucked up the courage to shake the tiefling's hand from his shoulder. "No, silly... Deekin thinking more like nice gift. Nice gesture."

Shaking his head in bewilderment at first, the Weapon Master's apparent confusion soon transformed into slightly horrified realisation. Straightening up, he coughed self consciously and stretched his shoulder and neck until they cracked, looking a little harried. "Oh. Well, I won't need to be worrying about that." He cleared his throat. "I was just worried about my, you know, reputation and everythi- stop looking at me like that!"

Grinning widely, Deekin crossed his arms over his scaly chest and quirked a brow at the tiefling in amusement. Snorting at this, Valen scowled angrily and, deciding that he shouldn't have to explain himself to a mere kobold anyway, swept past the bard, his tail lashing violently from side to side as he went.

Watching the Weapon Master leave, Deekin just smirked to himself, looked towards Jen's door one last time then scampered back down the corridor towards the stairs.

o0o

"Mother Seer..."

Nathyrra stood stiffly to attention to the door of the Seer's personal retreat and waited to be invited inside. Looking up from the report she was reading only to see one of her own looking so anxious, the older female shook her head ruefully and smiled at her in welcome.

"Nathyrra, you do not need to stand on ceremony. Please, enter."

Wringing her hands a little, the assassin looked around herself nervously before stepping into the chamber and shutting the door behind her softly.

Taking in her uncharacteristically apprehensive state, the Seer rose from her chair and gestured for Nathyrra to take a seat upon the couch by the window; after the assassin had hesitantly taken up her offer, the older drow then moved fluidly over to sit by her side.

"What is it?" she asked gently, taking one of Nathyrra's obsidian hands into her own. "What is bothering you?"

Chewing her bottom lip for a moment, the assassin paused, not entirely sure how to begin; she knew what she wanted to say – what she wanted to ask – but wasn't quite sure how to phrase it.

Seeing this uncertainty, the Seer simply nodded and smiled. "You wish to speak to me regarding Jenalil's return, do you not?"

Now looking a little surprised, Nathyrra nodded.

"I thought at least one of you would come to me at some point. Spontaneous resurrection is not... usual, and I must admit that although I have my suspicions, I do not really understand nor know how this has happened." She gave the assassin an apologetic look.

"You have your suspicions, though... Mother Seer: I know that you have foreseen Jen as the Defeater of the Valsharess – and I believe you – but... but..." Nathyrra began before trailing off.

The Seer sighed. "My visions are granted by Eilistraee, but Eilistraee could not find Jenalil's soul to resurrect her – why is this? Is that what you wish to say?"

Hesitating for a moment, Nathyrra nodded dumbly.

"There is no shame in asking these questions, Nathyrra," the Seer continued kindly. "It does not mean your faith is wavering – The Dark Maiden does not demand such blind devotion as the Spider Queen once did from her followers. To question such a thing is natural." The ancient drow then sighed, stood up and retrieved a bottle filigreed with silver and two delicately cut glasses from a richly decorated cabinet located in the corner of the room. Filling both glasses with a deep red wine, she handed one to Nathyrra before taking a sip from the other. "I... I suppose I should have told you more before charging you with the responsibility of accompanying Jen upon her quest... upon her destiny." She paused again, hoping her silence would invite the assassin to speak.

Staring at the Seer, her glass forgotten in her hand, Nathyrra nodded. "There is something else at play here, isn't there? Saviour or not - her magic... it is awesome; almost frighteningly so. She calls herself a Scout when any mage in the land would be jealous of her skills; she doesn't seem to need normal spell components, and the way she casts... it seems to come directly from within, but... but in a more instinctual, visceral way than any sorcerer I have ever met. I've studied the basics of magic - it might have been a long time ago, but I know the basic principles – and she contradicts everything I was taught. Magic doesn't behave in this way; it certainly doesn't turn on the caster the way it did with her... it shouldn't have killed her. But it did. And I don't know why."

Sighing heavily, the Seer took another sip from her crystal goblet and closed her golden eyes before giving Nathyrra a long, weary look. "I know. You are right to be suspicious; there are indeed things about Jenalil that I have not told you, but not because I wish to withhold things from you – it is simply because the knowledge would not actually do you any favours... and I still think that is the case. But things have got to a point where you – and you alone, I hasten to add – need to know certain facts. I realise this."

Nodding slowly, the assassin took a small sip from the glass in her hand, but said nothing.

"Jenalil..." the Seer started. "Jenalil isn't just another surfacer, Nathyrra; she believes she is, but she is not. It is this belief that we must preserve, however, as it is the one thing that protects her. She must believe that, outside of this prophecy, her life is her own; if she discovers her true purpose, her true nature, I dread to think how it would affect her."

Giving the Seer a decidedly worried look, Nathyrra set her glass down, her brows drawing together in consternation. "Her true purpose? What are you saying, Mother Seer? That... Jen's purpose is that she is going to die?"

Chuckling, the older drow shook her head. "No, good Nathyrra, nothing so dramatic; not if she remains with us. Eilistraee would not sacrifice her for what she holds within... but others might."

"For what she... holds within?" the assassin echoed, her concern giving way to confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

Taking a moment to inspect her glass, The Seer sighed again. "As I said, Jenalil is not just another surfacer; she is a... construct; a living cage of flesh for that which she holds within her."

"What?" Nathyrra whispered, horrified. "Jen's a... a construct? Some kind of... golem?"

"No, no... nothing of the sort," the Seer replied with a shake of her head. "She is flesh and blood, as you are; as I am; as we all are. She was born untainted to an elven priestess of Sehanine Moonbow; it was when she was but a mere babe in arms that her mother was forced out of sheer desperation to decide her destiny for her and transform her fragile body into... a prison, of sorts."

Feeling her mouth run dry, Nathyrra regarded the older female with widened eyes. "A prison? For what?"

The Seer sighed. "We call it the Remnant... I cannot tell you of what, for I do not wish you to treat her, nor see her, any differently to the way you do now. I am... ashamed to say that we are using its power to our advantage in these circumstances; it is why she is our saviour, Nathyrra – the power she holds can be used for great good... or for great evil, especially if it falls into the wrong hands. Whether the Valsharess yet realises what it is that she is facing, I do not know, but I suspect she will do, soon enough... and so it is imperative that we keep her as safe as possible." The Seer then gave Nathyrra a grave look. "I do not wish to subject her to this, but I simply feel I have no other choice; we must keep Jenalil safe, but at the same time, we cannot allow the Valsharess to dominate Faerûn. It is a delicate balancing act, and it causes me much grief... but our Lady assures me it is the right path, and it has been for a very long time."

Taking a moment to take in exactly what it was the Seer was telling her, Nathyrra felt her hands tremble for a moment; to prevent herself from spilling her wine, she then set her glass upon the floor at her feet and nodded slowly. "And it is from this... Remnant that she gains her powers? Her magic?"

"Yes. She has some aptitude, that is for certain, but it is the Remnant that allows her to manipulate pure, raw energy and emulate the spells you have witnessed. It is also the Remnant that... killed her. I suspect that the closer we come to our goal, the more aware it is becoming – and Eilistraee warns me that the more it becomes aware, the more dangerous it is."

"Is there nothing we can do?"

The Seer shook her head. "No. There will come a point where an extraction will take place, but that time is not now. It is still too closely entwined with Jenalil herself; in order for it to be removed without killing her, she must give it up willingly."

All of a sudden, Nathyrra's face grew still. "Would the Shadow know of this?"

Looking a little surprised, the Seer offered the assassin a small facial shrug. "If He is, He has remained remarkably quiet about it." She then gave Nathyrra a conciliatory smile. "I know why you ask this, and truth be told, I do not know. I know you are not overly fond of him, but Xen'shai Aleanath does have a role to play; although what it is... that I cannot tell you, for I just do not know."

"So Aleanath is a follower of the Masked Lord after all..."

"I have no proof of that claim," the Seer replied. "He holds his true identity close to himself; he is impenetrable, even to the Dark Maiden. Make of that what you will... but until I have any evidence that his actions are anything other than sincere, there is nothing I can do. As I said, he has a role to play, but what that role is..."

Pursing her lips in annoyance, Nathyrra leant down, grasped her glass and took a long swallow. "I don't like it. It's too convenient; Jen holds something powerful within herself, and a suspected devotee to the Shadow makes it his mission to help her... no. I don't think I need to be any oracle to see there's something wrong with that."

"Then it is a good thing that Jenalil has good friends – you, the kobold Deekin and Valen – to support her. Whatever happens, always hold on to that." The Seer then took another sip of her wine; draining the glass, she stood up. "I hope what little I can reveal to you helps."

Mirroring the Seer's movement, the assassin also stood up before curtseying low before her. "Mother Seer, it is an honour that you choose to share this information with me. I will not fail you."

Smiling, the Seer placed two ebon fingertips under Nathyrra's chin and forced her to look at her. "I know. That is why I have charged you with this over anyone else. Soon, Jenalil will rise, and you will have to make plans to leave and continue on. Be ready."

o0o

_ Flying... Soaring... Deep, deep depths..._

_ Comfortable. _

_ Warm._

_Safe._

_... Hungry?_

Feeling herself rise from the depths of sleep, Jen grimaced a little as a cavernous rumble twisted her belly. Opening her eyes, she tried to estimate what time it was and how long she had slept, but it was futile. Feeling quite disorientated, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position and stretched; feeling another, rather more pressing need other than her hunger then assail her, she swung her legs out of the bed and shuffled, still yawning, over to the door that concealed a small bathroom behind it.

Completing her ablutions, she stopped to inspect herself for a moment in the mirror; surprisingly, she now looked quite hale, but as she ran her hands through her tumble of messy chestnut curls, trying to settle her hair into something rather more presentable than its current bird's nest state, she almost recoiled in horror as she spied the condition of her arms.

Holding them out in front of her so she could inspect them, she followed the thin network of puckered, tendrilling scars that now filigreed her forearms; her face twisting into a mask of revulsion, she dropped them quickly and regarded herself in the mirror once again.

For a long moment, she tried to fool herself into believing that they did not matter; that the scars did not bother her and that she was not that vain so they wouldn't affect her in any way, but she knew deep down this was just not the case – vain or not, where there was once smooth skin, there were now shiny patches of seared flesh and hard ridges of white tissue; biting back tears of self pity, she quickly left the bathroom in search of something to cover her offending appendages, silently thankful that whatever happened, the bracers she habitually wore would hide the worst of the scarring at any given time.

Finding a pile of folded clothes with her circlet atop them upon the nightstand near her bed, she shook them out and quickly put them on: well made, slightly impractical underclothes, a pair of comfortable dark purple drawstring trousers that looked almost black in the half light of her room, a matching sleeveless top that laced at the front and, much to her chagrin, exposed her belly no matter how much she tried to pull it down and a long, sheer, fitted overcoat that, whilst impractically cut, mercifully covered her arms and floated behind her as a shadow when she moved. After brushing through her hair and settling her circlet once again upon her brow so that her vision was immediately enhanced, she looked at the floor and found a soft-looking pair of low-riding boots; pushing her feet into them, she felt a little better and, experiencing the gnawing sensation deep within her stomach again, took in a deep breath and gave herself a stern mental talking-to regarding how she was to conduct herself before shaking her unbound hair from her eyes and leaving the room in search of a very belated breakfast.

o0o

Ascending the stairs, Jen felt incredibly self concious when what felt like a hundred pairs of dark elven eyes turned to regard her passage. Swallowing hard, she grasped the bannister to her right as if her life depended upon it and almost stumbled down to the lobby of the usurped Temple of Lolth, desperately trying to see if she recognised anyone; finding no one, she paused by the bottom of the sweeping staircase and wrung her hands nervously as a wave of whispers rippled out amongst the assembled drow, with her at the epicentre of it all.

"I hope you slept well?"

Jumping a little as a familiar, regal yet soft voice heralded her return, the half elf span around to find the Seer standing directly behind her, an almost beatified smile gracing her ancient, beautiful features. Nodding as she willed her heart to slow, she cringed internally as her stomach made an embarrassing squealing sound; her smile deepening, the Seer raised an amused eyebrow.

"You slept well and are hungry. That is indeed a good sign." Seeing the half elf's discomposure, the older female gave the congregation of drow that had gathered around them a beseeching look; seeing this, they soon dispersed, leaving Jen and the Seer alone.

"Thank you," the half elf whispered.

"You are most welcome," the Seer replied graciously, before looking up and watched something with a welcoming smile.

Taking her lead, Jen turned around and watched the tall, stalking figure of Valen fight his way against a tide of dark elves; feeling something small leap in her chest, she self consciously hid her her covered arms behind her and glanced towards the Seer, who was, rather disconcertingly, watching her rather than the approaching tiefling.

"Weapon Master," the older female inclined her head by way of greeting as he reached them.

At this, much to the half elf's surprise, Valen bowed low, his long, unbound crimson hair almost pooling upon the marble floor as he did so. "Seer."

Smiling at Jen, the Seer shook her head a little at the tiefling's formal show of deference before smoothing her features once again as Valen straightened up and nodded towards the half elf.

"Jenalil is hungry, good Valen; can you spare the time to direct her to the kitchens?"

Although the question was innocent enough, Jen couldn't help but feel a slight pang of apprehension as the tiefling turned to regard her curiously.

"Sure," the Weapon Master nodded with a small shrug. "Follow me."

Inclining her head once more, the Seer nodded to both of them. "Good. Thank you, Valen – Jenalil; I am afraid I have much to do, so I shall leave you in the capable hands of my Weapon Master... if that is agreeable with yourself?"

Biting her bottom lip and then reprimanding herself mentally for such a stupid, girlish gesture, the half elf nodded firmly. "That is agreeable. Thank you, Seer; Valen."

Gesturing with one hand, Valen simply regarded Jen impassively. "After you."

Leaving the Seer, the half elf and the tiefling walked in silence across the lobby with drow watching them surreptitiously from all directions; feeling rather like an exhibit in a very special kind of zoo, the tiefling led Jen silently to a nondescript door located beyond a winding corridor. Beyond it was a torch lit set of stone stairs from which the scent of the kitchens wafted: delicious cooking smells intermingled with the sour edge of scraps and rubbish.

Opening the door, Valen gestured almost curtly for her to enter; upon doing so, the half elf had to hold in a gasp as she surveyed Lith My'athar's cavernous kitchens for the first time. A huge firepit was located in the middle of the floor upon which various pots standing upon large yet delicately crafted iron trivets bubbled and boiled, and upon a slowly rotating spit a young rothe roasted, the juices which ran from its roasting flesh making the coals beneath it spit and flare. All around the edges of this pit, their skin glistening with the heat that emanated from it, dark elves bustled; some making bread, others preparing various alien-looking vegetables and fungi, even more bringing the various ingredients together to make simple yet tasty meals for the soldiers and workers of Ust Natha. The sight shouldn't have surprised Jen – after all, an army marches upon its stomach, and she always knew deep down that the food she ate had to have come from somewhere – but to see it all laid out in this way it almost felt indecent, as if Ust Natha had been stripped and was now showing the reality of what she kept under her violent, brooding skirts.

Threading his way with practised ease through the kitchen staff, Jen guessed that Valen had visited these kitchens often, a supposition that she felt justified in having when he led her to an at first almost invisible corner table that was lit by a few scant candles and signalled that she should sit down before stalking away for a moment, only to return with a large bowl, its hidden contents steaming enticingly, and a large hunk of still-warm bread.

Pulling the bowl towards her and taking the spoon he offered her, the half elf's smile was both grateful and nervous: grateful for the food, but nervous of his silence. Stirring the stew and noting the large chunks of vegetable and generous amount of rothe meat that it contained, Jen loaded her spoon and took a tentative sip; the broth was thick and comforting, redolent with herbs and spices that were probably common to the drow yet unfathomably exotic to her surfacer palate.

Nodding her appreciation, she looked up to find the Weapon Master tearing a chunk of the bread into small pieces with an obvious undercurrent of vehemence, the unfocused cast to his eyes signalling that his attention was at that moment elsewhere; at this, she couldn't stop the resurgence of that slightly sick feeling that inevitably accompanied the first pangs of her returning nervousness.

"Valen?" she asked after taking a few more spoonfuls of her stew, unable to stand the silence that had sprung between them any longer. "Valen? Are you all right?"

"What?" The tieflign replied, giving her a slightly incomprehensible look as if seeing her for the first time. "Oh, uh, yes. Of course" He then offered her a distracted smile before popping a small piece of the destroyed bread into his mouth, his face settling back into its habitual half-scowl.

Sighing inwardly and having to suppress the urge to roll her eyes in frustration, Jen took another spoonful of stew before speaking again.

"I take it we won, then?" She paused, waiting for a reply that obviously wasn't forthcoming. "I said-"

"I know what you said," Valen interrupted. "And yes – after a fashion, we won."

"After a fashion?"

The Weapon Master said nothing as he levelled his gaze towards the half elf; although it was not accusatory, Jen couldn't help but squirm a little nonetheless.

"Oh," she mumbled after a short pause. "I see."

"You were very reckless," Valen all but murmured.

To this accusation, Jen just shrugged, dipped her spoon into her stew once again and swirled the thick liquid within the bowl. Leaning forward, the Weapon Master extended a calloused hand and dipped a piece of his ravaged bread in her soup and quickly popped it into his mouth, wincing a little as the hot liquid scalded his tongue.

"Good, isn't it?" he asked in a non-committal way.

Looking up, Jen nodded before taking another spoonful.

"I was surprised at the quality of the food here; considering all, I was expecting to exist entirely upon hard tack and dried rations."

Realising what he was doing, the half elf felt a surge of surprise intermixed with a deep appreciation at his unusual display of tact as she continued to eat, clearing her bowl. She then took what was left of her chunk of bread and wiped it clean before dropping her spoon into the bowl to indicate the had finished, the metal ringing against the ceramic.

"Want some more?" The tiefling half rose from his seat and, leaning across the table, made to take her now empty bowl and re-fill it.

Shaking her head, Jen reached forward without really thinking and stayed his hand. Feeling her warm fingers curl around his rather more calloused ones, Valen's cerulean eyes flicked up to meet her hazel ones for the briefest of moments before he glanced back down at the table, at their joined hands, where he for the first time noticed the thin network of ridged, ugly scars that now crawled their way from the backs of her hands and up her forearms; where the scars ended, he could only guess.

Catching sight of his eyes rest upon her mangled skin, Jen snatched her hand away quickly and folded it with its twin upon her lap under the table and, more importantly out of view. She wished fervently that she the scars did not bother her, and maybe, with time, they wouldn't... but now, it was far too soon after the event, and for some reason, she had no wish for him to see them.

Seeing a look of horror flicker across her features as she withdrew her hand from his to hide it beneath the table, the tiefling frowned a little and inclined his head ever so slightly in deference for her choice. For a split second, he felt the overwhelming urge to reassure her that he had seen worse scarring on an almost daily basis, but was not the point here; although the scars were prematurely healed (he would have expected them to be red and livid so soon after injury), it was obvious to him that the half elf had not had time to come to terms with the new addition to her body, and so such words of comfort may do more harm than good. Instead, he wracked his brains, trying to think of something else suitable to say to her to take the attention away from all the difficult questions he wished to ask her about her apparent death, but nothing was forthcoming – he wasn't the greatest of conversationalists at the best of times, let alone now...

Luckily, Jen quickly filled the awkward gulf that had opened between them.

"So... how did you defeat the hordes of Zorvak'Mur?" Her tone was light, but the topic heavy; Valen almost wished that she had not bothered opening her mouth.

"There was something sick at the heart of the Illithid enclave," he answered, his voice devoid of emotion as he recollected the foul stench of the Elder Brain's domicile. "The Elder Brain as dying – it hinted that it had been cut off from the whole Collective and poisoned somehow. Whether this was a direct attack down it the agreement with the Valsharess, or the agreement with the Valsharess came as a result of an inherent weakness that was already there, we don't know." He then shrugged, playing the situation lightly. "It asked for death; we gave it to it."

"So the enclave is destroyed?" Jen asked. "What of the slaves? What of Ixenthraxsis?"

"Those who survived are here. Ixenthraxsis is amongst their number. They have offered their allegience to our cause."

"Those who survived..." a look of shame and hurt clouded the half elf's face. "I... I didn't mean for anyone... for those people..." She trailed off, not so much unsure as unwilling to voice – and therefore admit – her culpability in the tragedy.

"Don't flatter yourself," Valen broke in, a droll, almost jokey hint to his voice, which he immediately regretted as her whole face fell. "I mean... it wasn't your fault. Yes, what you did was reckless – stupid, even – but no matter what we had done, those people were doomed one way or another. If anything, more people survived due to your actions." He smiled slightly, but it was a crooked, gentle smile that was a million miles from his usual cruel sneer. "Hard choices had to be made, and whilst I am not sure I agree with yours, something had to be done. Ixenthraxsis and the slaves realise this. They do not blame any of us... least of all you."

Nodding, Jen's lips pursed as she swallowed convulsively, trying to disperse the lump that had spontaneously formed within her throat.

"And so what now?" she asked after a long pause in which she fought for her composure. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, the Illithid factor has been eliminated. That alone is a great blow to Valsharess and a huge boost to our chances. We now have to decide where we go next – we either clear out that nest of necromancers, or we tackle the Eye Tyrant hive. The choice, as they say, is yours." He shifted his weight upon his chair so that he could survey the kitchen for a while. It was as busy as before, the drow bustling around, occasionally throwing them curious looks, but apart from that their attention was fully upon their tasks. For a moment, he felt a pang of jealously towards them for their relatively simple lives.

"And what would your choice be?" Jen asked, wondering why the tiefling had suddenly turned his attention towards the kitchen. "What would you do."

He paused again before facing her once more. "What I think doesn't come into it, Jen," he said brusquely, giving her an oddly intense look. "You are the one who has to choose. You have to start trusting yourself."

Once again, the half elf felt that terrible, salty lump rise once again in her throat: _a pathetic response to responsibility_, she thought, and was ashamed of herself for it.

Cocking his head to one side, Valen regarded Jen for a long moment before standing up. "Do you want to get out of here? Go for a walk?" he asked suddenly.

Completely caught off guard, the half elf glanced away for a second before answering, the lump in her throat melting away, only to be replaced by her suddenly hammering heart.

"A walk?"

"Yes... a walk. It's so cloying in here... maybe a breath of fresh air would do us both good. Maybe we can forget the horrible decisions we have to make for a little while."

"Well, okay, yes, if you like..." she answered, taken aback. "Where do you want to go?"

"I... know somewhere," Valen answered a little bashfully, much to the half elf's surprise. "I think you'll like it... Want to go now?"

Pausing for a moment so she did not seem too keen, Jen just nodded.


	36. A Time to Breathe

_WARNING – Fangirling! (grins) Oh, I know, bad Ely with the convenient interruption and all... but believe me, this was the only way I could get them to stop! Sheesh... (goes a trifle pink)_

_EDIT: Minor changes made so that this chapter fits with the changed content of the chapter before._

Chapter 36 – A Time to Breathe

Leaving the warm fug of the kitchens behind, Jen shivered a little, surprised as an unexpectedly chill breeze whipped around her and lifted her hair from her shoulders, whipping it around her head. Drawing her arms around herself, making sure she was grasping the cuffs of her sleeves so she did not expose her newly scarred forearms, she looked up at Valen, who simply gave her an enquiring look as he pushed his own hair out of his eyes and hooked it behind his ears.

Wordlessly, they moved off, with the tiefling leading. Following him, it almost frightened the half elf how easily – how comfortably - she now wove through the dark elven throng outside the tavern; how, in such a short time, she had become used to this most alien of places to the point where she did not notice the crushing, oppressive sensation of thousands of tonnes of rock above her head rather than open sky and the glittering, cruelly constructed black buildings so unlike anything ever seen upon the surface. For a moment, she reflected silently upon how she had felt the first time she had set foot into the city proper; that dizzying, almost overwhelming feeling of confusion and claustrophobia she had experienced at being trapped so deep underground – a feeling she realised, that, although not completely banished from her, was now nothing more than a mere tickle at the back of her mind. Glancing up, she allowed herself to include the tiefling that now strode by her side in her reflections; had he changed too? Although he still stalked with a curiously predatory gait and still held himself with a fierce, near incandescent pride, she realised with some surprise that he no longer frightened her the way he once had; that now, rather than an adversary, he had become someone she felt she could rely on... even trust.

A... friend, for lack of a better term.

Realising that he was leading her to the merchant's square, Jen began to wonder exactly where he was taking her, and for what purpose; at first, she considered just asking him, but something small and indefinable stopped her... for some reason, she had the distinct feeling that whatever it was, part of the game they were currently involved in meant that she simply had to follow his lead and trust his judgement.

At first, she thought he was taking her to somewhere within the city, but after a short while, he veered off, away from the market place and to a part of the city she had never been to before. Here, it was quieter and, for some reason, smelt of agriculture; that curious mixture of hay and manure that some found unpleasant, but she found oddly comforting, reminding her of her life back home. Still they walked, past rather more rustic looking buildings and a paddock filled with large bovine animals that looked like a curious mixture of buffalo and cow, until they came to a fence with a wooden gate located in its centre.

Offering her a small smile as he noticed her brows draw together questioningly, Valen unlatched the gate and waited until she had walked through. Up ahead was what looked for all the world like a pasture, bordered by huge, towering stands of mushrooms, filled with a soft moss that Jen guessed passed for grass in the Underdark. Shoving his hands deep within his pockets, the half elf couldn't help but notice that whilst nothing definable had changed about the tiefling's overall demeanour, there was nevertheless a hint of nervousness to this gesture; frowning to herself, she knew better than to question him, not wanting to risk him throwing up his cautiously lowered defences, and just followed him as he set off again, making his way slightly uphill across the field towards the stand of massive fungi.

Much to her surprise, there was actually a crudely cut path through the mushrooms, which Valen led her through, still silent. Once again, the tall, trunk-like stems and rich, organic scent of leaf mould and moss assailed Jen, and deep within herself she felt the first, sharp pangs of homesickness... but it was not an unwelcome nor unpleasant thing, but rather simply a lingering, half forgotten desire to once again walk through the meadows and woodlands of her childhood.

As her heart fluttered a little, it suddenly struck her why he had brought her here... why he had led her all this way in silence; so she had a chance to capture a little bit of her old, uncomplicated life amongst all the chaos that whirled around her. Feeling decidedly touched and more than just a little bewildered as to why he would do this, she smiled secretly to herself as she regarded his tall figure ahead once more, watching as he slowed to a halt and then stopped.

Gazing out in front of him, the tiefling waited for the half elf who had been dawdling behind him, lost as she was in her reminiscing, to catch up with him. Finally, Jen made her way to his side, offering him a small yet sweet smile and stood beside him once more, now curious to what it was he was regarding.

She was aware that they had been gradually moving uphill, but to what extent, she did not realise fully; gasping a little as her hand flew to her mouth, she looked out over the vista laid out in front of her, taking in the entire city of Lith My'athar, glittering and beautiful, the spire of the temple the Seer had enchanted glowing softly at its heart.

"I come here when I need to think," Valen remarked softly after he allowed her a moment to take in the sight before her. "Being up here... it reminds me of what I'm fighting for. It helps me put things into perspective."

Saying nothing for a long while, Jen glanced up at him, realising that he did not need her to comment; instead, she felt her gaze being drawn once more by the sprawling city below.

"It's... beautiful," she breathed in awe.

"It is," the tiefling agreed with a slow nod. "Up here, you can almost forget that it is nothing more than a cesspool of plotting and dark intrigue..."

The half elf turned to regard the Weapon Master in surprise. "I don't think I ever thought I'd hear that from you; I thought you would do anything for Lith My'athar, but instead, it sounds like you almost... resent it," she commented quietly.

Shrugging, Valen folded his arms over his chest. "I might defend the city and its inhabitants, but that does not mean I am blind to its nature, Jen. I have been dealing with dark elven kind for a long time now."

Seeing him unconsciously take such defensive stance at her observation, Jen couldn't help but smile where she once would have cringed. "How long have you been with them?" she asked lightly, carefully trying to maintain the rather more relaxed atmosphere that they had cultivated between them over the last hour or so.

"A few years," he replied after a long pause. Uncrossing his arms, he then sat down upon the mossy grass, loosely looping his arms over his knees, and studied his hands for a moment.

Sitting down beside him, the half elf drew her legs underneath her. "A few years? And you've been a Commander all that time?"

Offering Jen an abashed grin, the tiefling shook his head. "No... that was only recently." He sighed. "We lost our former Commander a few months ago, during a particularly nasty clash with the Valsharess' troops. As his Second, I had to pull back with the survivors... we lost a great many allies that day."

"I expect you would have lost a lot more if it hadn't been for you assuming leadership," Jen said tentatively. "I'm not surprised the Seer made you Commander after that."

After regarding her carefully for a long moment, the Weapon Master offered her a hesitant nod of gratitude and then fell silent, turning back to observe his surroundings once more as if unsure as to how to continue this line of conversation.

"They bring the rothe up here to calve, you know," he commented, changing the subject suddenly. "It's not the right season, though, so the ground is lying fallow right now. It's the closest thing we have to a meadow around here." He then offered her a small yet genuine smile. "I thought... I thought it might be something you'd appreciate."

"Really?" Jen asked with a smile of her own. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

"I don't know," Valen shrugged. "You just don't seem to be much of a city girl, I suppose..."

Lapsing once more into silence, they sat, lost in thought for a while, but, rather surprisingly, it was in no way uncomfortable; stretching his legs out in front of him, the Weapon Master continued to gaze over the city before he finally spoke again.

"Where did you go?"

For a moment, Jen was caught off guard by his question; not knowing exactly what he referred to, she shook her head a little in bewilderment.

"When you... died," he elaborated as he turned to her and caught her gesture of bemusement. "The Seer says Eilistraee couldn't find you to petition for your return, and so I just wondered... where did you go?"

Biting a thumbnail as she worked her way through her jumbled memories of the past few days, Jen shrugged slightly; although she knew it was inevitable that someone would ask her this question sooner or later, she just hadn't expected it to be him.

"I... I don't really know," she answered eventually, feeling curiously reticent to discuss what she remembered of the Reaper with anyone. "I just... woke up. There were lots of doors... then pain. A lot of pain. That's all I really remember. Not very helpful, I know... sorry."

Again, they fell into silence; this time, however, it was lacking the companionable edge of last time as the half elf suspected the tiefling knew she was lying. Frowning a little, it was plain to Valen that the half elf wished to change the subject, and so leaning back upon his elbows, he obliged.

"Where are you from?"

"What?" Jen replied bluntly, feeling a little off kilter at another sudden change of topic.

Valen offered her a small facial shrug. "Just curious. I realised the other day that although we've been travelling together for a while, I hardly know anything about you, that's all. You don't have to answer if you don't want to..."

Smiling a little to herself, the half elf hugged her knees close to her chin. "Well... I'm from the Heartlands," she replied. "A small village that no one has ever heard of - nothing special."

"What's it called?"

"Forestside. Because it's next to-"

"A forest?" Valen interrupted, a droll hint to his voice.

"Ahh, I can see your powers of deduction know no bounds," Jen grinned in reply.

"I have my moments," he replied, mirroring her grin. "What about your family?"

Giving him a slightly incredulous look, the half elf decided to humour his request nonetheless. "Father is in the local Guard... younger brother following in his footsteps... step mother is a housewife."

"Step mother?"

"Yes – my real mother died when I was young."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that."

Offering him a self depreciating smile, Jen shook her head. "People always say that, but you don't have to be. I don't remember her at all; I know, people say that there should be something; a smell, or something in my dreams... but there isn't. Not very romantic, but it's true. All I know is that she was an elf and my father loved her very much to the point where it's painful for him to talk about her."

"That must be hard on you..."

"No... not really. Of course, I'm... curious to know about her but I don't want to hurt Dad, so once he'd told me all I needed to know, I stopped bugging him about it." She smiled, but it was not a smile for the tiefling sprawled out beside her, but rather for her father. "He says that I have her eyes... but I'm pretty sure he's lying; when it comes down to it, hazel just isn't an elven colour." She then gave him an enquiring look. "How about you?"

"How about me what?" Valen asked, rolling on to one side and propping himself up on one elbow.

Uncurling herself, Jen leant back, mirroring the tiefling's more relaxed state. "How about your family?"

"Don't have one," he replied matter of factly. "Mother died when I was younger, never knew my father and if I have siblings, I don't know about them."

"Your mother died too?"

Valen nodded. "I was about seven... I lived in Sigil at that point. Mother worked for a demoness, but she was sick one month – because she didn't bring in enough coin, she was punished so severely that it killed her."

Regarding him with widened eyes, Jen looked shocked. "Oh, Valen, I am so sorry to hear that. It must have been awful..."

"No... not really. Happens all the time, to be honest; you just kind of live with it."

"It happens all the time?" Jen echoed, appalled. "Where on Toril are you from?"

"I told you; Sigil, the City of Doors. It's not on Toril. Haven't you heard of it?"

Shaking her head, the half elf shrugged. "I've heard it mentioned, but never really took any notice - nor interest - I must admit... but, considering what you've just told me, it sounds like a vile place."

Grinning, Valen tugged out a long-stemmed piece of moss and stuck it jauntily between his teeth. "No... Sigil's not vile; it's a beautiful, dangerous, exciting place, full of opportunity."

"I'm not too convinced..." Jen replied warily. "Sounds a bit rich for my blood."

"Says the girl stuck in the Underdark," the tiefling snorted in amusement. "No, you'd love it. When all of this is over... maybe I'll take you there, if you like."

Surprised at his offer, Jen shrugged one shoulder and fiddled a little self-consciously with the end of one the curls that tendrilled over one of her shoulders. "Maybe. Sounds like fun." She then cleared her throat a little nervously; feeling silence threaten to descend upon the pair of them again, the half elf pressed on. "What about your father? Didn't you seek him out after your mother died?"

At this, the tiefling just shook his head ruefully. "No, I didn't; I don't think that would have been a good idea, to be honest. I am under no illusions as to the circumstances of my conception; I wasn't a child born out of love, like you, but rather out of a transaction, or of violence." Noticing the look of open shock that wrote itself across the half elf's face, Valen smiled gently. "It doesn't bother me; truthfully. Cambions aren't known for their kind and gentle natures, after all. When it comes down to it, my mother didn't have to keep me; that she did says she must have cared for me, after a fashion."

"What... what happened to you after that? And what is a cambion?" Jen couldn't help but ask.

"I was a street urchin for a while – best pickpocket in the Hive, I hasten to add! - but it's not important," he answered. "It all led to me being press-ganged into joining the Blood Wars, and you know about that."

"... And cambions?"

Chuckling to himself, Valen shook his head again at her terminal curiosity. "They're half demons, Jen; where I get these from." He gestured to his horns and flicked his tail at her playfully. "I'm surprised you hadn't figured that out, you know..."

Blushing slightly as the tip of his tail grazed her leg, Jen had to sublimate a small shiver that suddenly tickled its way up her spine. "How should I know?" she commented a little tartly in mock complaint, trying to compensate for her unexpected discomposure. "We hardly have demons stalking our streets in Forestside, you know... it's unusual enough to see an elf or a halfling!"

"Indeed..." Valen replied slowly, giving her a strangely searching look. "I suppose I must look very strange to you."

Raising her eyebrows, Jen smiled inwardly as she recognised his blatant play for information regarding her opinions of him, not, she realised with some measure of secret delight, as a Commander or as a friend, but how she as a woman regarded him as a man. "Nooo..." she began slowly, cursing herself as she felt a scalding flush creep up the sides of her neck and spread across her cheeks. "Unusual, maybe, but that's not necessarily a bad thing..."

Falling silent and looking away from her to regard the city below them once more, Valen tugged out another blade of grass-like moss from the turf and started chewing upon it thoughtfully. As he fell quiet, Jen felt a slight pang of worry and her heart sink a little. "Have... have I said something I shouldn't"

Turning back to her, Valen narrowed his eyes at her in amusement. "No. Why do you ask?"

"In the past, when you went quiet, it usually meant I'd either said something, or had done something you considered stupid..."

"Is that what you think?"

"Well... you did tell me, on numerous occasions, that I was stupid and naïve and generally a waste of space..."

His smile falling from his face, the tiefling took out the blade of almost-grass from his mouth and sat up, his demeanour all of a sudden defensive. "I said I was sorry for that."

"Oh, I know – I... I'm not having a go at you," Jen started, a little too quickly. "Just, you know, when you go all taciturn, I kind of automatically assume I've said something to upset you."

Shaking his head a little, the Weapon Master drew his knees momentarily up under his chin before unfurling himself and turning to her once again; raising a hesitant hand, he allowed himself to catch her chin. "The problem wasn't with you," he murmured eventually, "it was with me. I... I'm a proud man, Jen – too proud, sometimes. To survive here, I've had to be. But I don't want to be a proud man; I want to be a good man... and I was not a good man to you. I've treated you appallingly, and, believe me, it is something that causes me much grief and regret; if I'm honest, I have no idea why you are even here - if I were you, I would have told me exactly where to go-"

Placing her fingertips over his mouth, Jen silenced the tiefling; deciding to throw caution to the wind entirely and feeling a little light headed as a small, detached part of her realised what she was about to do and despaired, she then leant forwards, removed her hand and gently lay a light kiss upon his lips.

His cerulean eyes widening in shock, Valen's first instinct was to jerk his head back; feeling him do this, Jen felt her insides turn to ice and her face ignite, ashamed that she had read his signals so incorrectly. However, this was quickly replaced by a sharp jolt in her stomach when, rather than leaving her in disgust, the tiefling snaked a hand behind her head and leant in to return the favour.

At first, his kiss was chaste, but as the tension that had been building to a near unbearable level between them for so long finally broke, Jen felt his warm tongue flick enticingly over her lips; feeling a deep, swooping sensation sink through her, she needed no encouragement to tilt her head and allow him to deepen his kiss as he ran a hand up her outer thigh, making her utter a small, involuntary gasp. Wrapping her arms around his neck as their tongues entwined, Jen allowed the tiefling to guide her backwards to the ground, when suddenly, without warning, he abruptly broke off his impassioned embrace and snapped his head around, as if he was listening.

Confused, the half elf drew her brows together. "What's wrong?"

"The Seer Calls... something's wrong. We have to get back to Lith My'athar."

"Oh."

Despite his sudden worry, seeing the bewildered, hurt expression flit across her flushed countenance, Valen ran a hand through her hair and, cupping her cheek with his palm, gave her a swift yet ardent kiss before standing up and offering her his hand, hoping that she would realise that it was not her that he ran from, rather his responsibilities he ran to. Accepting his proffered hand with a sigh, Jen nodded and allowed him to pull her upright before they both all but ran back across the pasture together, making their way as swiftly as they could to the glittering drow city below.

o0o

"What's going on?" Valen demanded, striding up to Imloth, his demeanour stern and uncompromising once again, all trace of his previous good humour now gone.

Marking his Commander's approach, Imloth had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes as he saluted. "Where in the Abyss have you been?" he asked, a hint of complaint colouring his voice. "We've been looking everywhere in the city for you; in the end, we had to ask the Seer to Call you!"

"I am not on duty," the tiefling snapped, drawing himself up to his full height. "And I do not need to answer to you. I heard the Call and came here as quickly as I could. Now, report!"

Saluting again, Imloth nodded smartly. "Yes, Sut'rinos!" he answered briskly, not wishing to stoke his superior's rather infamous temper. "A patrol has been attacked; there were a lot of casualties, with a few possibly taken alive. The survivors have reported the presence of undead mainly, but by all accounts there were a good number of duergar and drow present too-"

"The Valsharess," the Weapon Master growled. "How close?"

"Only a mile or so. They're getting bolder."

Snorting in annoyance, Valen nodded. "Okay – time to scare them off. Gather an elite vzahaz and meet me by the city gates. Make sure we have access to at least one spellcaster, just in case." He then perused the gaggle of drow congregated around them. "Get a couple of Scouts, too – send them ahead and see if they can glean any more intelligence that might help us. I'll liaise with the Seer and prepare myself; give me half an hour."

Nodding back sharply, Imloth turned smartly upon one heel and began barking orders the the assembled dark elves as Valen stalked away.

"I'll go and get my things," Jen remarked as they moved off, finding herself having to resort to a curious skipping walk in order to keep with with him. "Do you know where they were p-"

"You're not coming," the Weapon Master said curtly.

"What?" the half elf asked angrily. "You said you needed spellcasters and Scouts; well, I'm both. I'm coming."

"No, you're not," Valen snapped back as he approached the outer doors of the temple. "You're going to stay here with the Seer."

"Is that an order, Weapon Master?" she quipped acerbically as they entered the temple proper.

Making their way across the outer lobby, the tiefling sighed heavily. "If it has to be. Jen; please don't argue with me, not now." He then paused by the door of what Jen guessed he treated as his office. "If this is the preclusion to a real incursion, I need you here to protect the Seer initially. If it isn't, the last thing we need is for the Valsharess to have any real confirmation that you actually exist."

"But that's ridiculous; the Valsharess knows I exist-"

"Yes, I know; but she hasn't seen you with her own eyes," Valen interrupted. "At the moment, this means we have the slight upper hand in the situation. Jen... please... just do as you're told this time. No heroics. Chances are this will all come to naught. Trust me."

Glowering a little petulantly at the Weapon Master, the half elf finally nodded. Smiling, the tiefling opened the door to a small room that smelt of cold ashes and armour polish before glancing around himself and leaning in to peck Jen quickly upon her cheek. "Thank you. Go and find the Seer; I'll be with you in a minute."

With that, he closed the door, essentially barring her entry.

o0o

Still feeling slightly sulky and more than just a little worried, Jen hurried across the outer lobby towards the centre of the temple proper, seeking out the Seer. As per usual, she was sat upon the throne-like chair located upon the central dais in the main room; this time, however, rather than displaying her usual calm, serene composure, she looked deadly serious – worried even – as she spoke to one of her priestesses in rapid drow. Spotting the half elf's approach, she stood and held out her hands; clasping in them in her own she inclined her head and forced a smile to grace her refined features.

"Jenalil!" she breathed. "I am so very glad to find you. For a moment, I was worried..." she shook her head. "But no. You were with the Weapon Master all along; I should have known you were safe. Have you heard?"

Sensing the Seer's anxiety, Jen nodded, now incredibly concerned. "Yes, I have... Imloth informed me. He said one of the Valsharess' troops has been sighted nearby, but he didn't really elaborate. Valen says he's going to take an elite battalion out to chase them away if necessary, and that I'm to stay here with you."

Looking a little surprised, the Seer nodded nonetheless. "That may be for the best... it has not been long since your miraculous return to us, after all." She then looked thoughtful. "Yes – you should stay here, just in case anything does go wrong. If the Valsharess is moving against Lith My'athar prematurely, we will need you to continue as soon as possible, and we still have much to discuss as to your next course of action."

Nodding, Jen heard the doors crash open behind her; snapping her head around, the half elf could only watch as two seriously injured drow were carried in to the temple by their comrades, who were shouting frantically for assistance. Gathering her skirts in her hands, the Seer all but flew down the steps that led to her podium; laying the two gravely hurt dark elves upon the marble floor, the largely uninjured drow stepped back and Jen felt her stomach turn a little as she caught a glimpse of what looked like pale, glistening ropes tumble from the stomach of one, the obvious result of an attempted evisceration.

"What did this?" she heard the Seer demand, but the reply the dak elf she had accosted gave her was too rapid for her shaky grasp of the drow language to handle; she guessed it was not good news, however, when the Seer's countenance hardened and her usually kind eyes took on an almost metallic edge as her priestesses began to busy themselves around her, kneeling beside the injured dark elves, preparing to cast powerful healing spells in an effort to snatch them from the cold clutches of death itself.

For a moment, Jen felt an almost surreal sense of juxtaposition; how could things have gone from being so calm – so _promising_ – to this in the space of a few mere minutes? Watching as the blood from the casualties in front of her pooled and ran along the barely visible joins in the marble upon which they were lain, the half elf then shook her head, deciding to temporarily banish such thoughts; instead, she waylaid a passing priestess, and, after asking her how she could help, ran to fetch warm water and clean cloths alongside the other followers of Eilistraee.


	37. A Call to Arms

_I thought it was about time I put people out of their misery with regards to a rather major plot point... am now waiting for D&D purists to rain angry scorn down upon my head! :p_

_Yeah, I know, far fetched and not at all in keeping with canon D&D lore... but sod it, it makes a good story! :D_

Chapter 37 – A Call to Arms

Waiting impatiently by the main gates of Lith My'athar, Commander Imloth glanced up at the glowing spire that dominated the central plaza of the city, trying to gauge what time it was and how much longer he would have to wait for his superior to arrive. Around him stood a mixed array of dark elves – mainly warriors, but with a few spellcasters, including Shadowbreath's own current comrade-in-arms, Jehk'ril Aleanath – checking various weapons and talking quietly amongst themselves, a palpable air of apprehension and excitement about them.

Although they had clashed with the Valsharess' troops before, there was something about the reports this time that bred unease amongst the assembly of seasoned warriors; hardly any of the previous patrol had returned unscathed, and with them came tales of monstrous, two-headed skeletal behemoths that spat electrical energy as if possessed by the spirits blue dragons and seemed all but impervious to their sharp, finely crafted weapons. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Imloth folded his arms over his chest and strained his excellent vision, trying to spy the Weapon Master so that they could leave, the protracted wait and uncertainty only heightening his own levels of building anxiety.

Finally, a familiar, tall figure strode from the gloom, a heavy tangle of thick chains connected to viciously spiked balls made of a cold, black bone in one hand, and a palpably predatory air about him. Ignoring the assembled drow, Valen stalked purposefully up to his Second and nodded, indicating that he was ready.

"I have nothing new to report," Imloth saluted, deciding that it was better to get straight down to business than exchange unnecessary pleasantries. "Nathyrra took a scouting party ahead. Hopefully we should confirmation of the rumours soon."

Grunting, the tiefling nodded again. "The Seer said that reports are filtering in about a new kind of enemy?"

"Siyo," the drow commander nodded curtly. "Some kind of... undead giant."

Looking thoughtful, the Weapon Master stroked his chin for a moment. "I see. Well, we shall know more once Nathyrra returns."

"Sut'rinos Shadowbreath?" an unfamiliar voice asked; turning, Valen found a drow fighter just behind him, his eyes downcast in respect. "There is someone who wishes to speak with you..."

Glancing up, the tiefling had to hold in a look of abject surprise when he spied a large, bronze figure with an immense greatsword strapped to her back standing just outside the edge of the little gathering, staring serenely at him. Turning to Imloth, he inclined his head once, indicating that he was leaving momentarily, before making his way quickly to where Ixenthraxsis stood.

At his approach, the half dragon bowed her head.

"My Lord Weapon Master," she said softly, holding her palms out in front of her to show that bore no arms.

"Lady Ixenthraxsis," Valen replied a little gruffly, remembering his manners since she had remembered hers. "What are you doing here?"

"I come to offer you my sword arm, should you take it," she replied, her sincerity plain in her bright copper eyes. "You fought at my side; now I wish to fight at yours."

Giving the paladin a small, appraising look as he took in her thin countenance and still-ragged wings, the tiefling raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're ready? You look like-"

"I am absolutely fine," Ixenthraxsis interrupted, spotting the look he gave her immediately. "The Seer has freed my wings from their bondage; whether they will ever be whole again, who can say - but for the meantime, I am as hale as can be expected." Her reptilian features then softened a little as she leant forwards with a conspiratorial glint in gleaming eyes. "To tell you the truth, I rather feel like a spare part; I am a creature of action – I cannot sit back and allow others to fight whilst I sit upon my tail and watch. I am sure that is a sentiment you only appreciate too well?"

Although she had phrased it as a question, the Weapon Master knew that it was a statement of fact; after giving her a long, measured look, Valen smiled grimly and nodded his head. "I can appreciate that well enough. Of course you are welcome to join us in our fight."

Smiling in return, Ixenthraxsis said nothing further as she stepped forwards to join the rest of the drow, whom, despite her unusual appearance, just gave her cool, disinterested glances before they settled back to waiting for their orders.

Ducking her head so that her words were for Valen and Valen alone, the half dragon couldn't help but quirk a scaly brow. "Welcoming lot, aren't they?"

"They're not here to welcome people," the tiefling replied quietly.

"I see one of your previous troop is here?" she commented, indicating to Jehk'ril, who now had his eyes closed, deep in casting.

Grunting, Valen said nothing.

"I do not see Lady Jenalil, though. Where is she?"

"She's not coming," the Weapon Master answered curtly, his face carefully blank.

"Oh," Ixenthraxsis replied, failing to mask her surprise. "I had been informed that she was whole and healthy again... it surprises me to find out that she chooses not to fight."

"She didn't choose," Valen answered, a little too gruffly. "I told her to stay in the city."

Straightening herself up, it was the half dragon's turn to give the Weapon Master an appraising look as he stared belligerently back at her. Rather than choosing to argue with him, she the just shrugged. "I see. I suppose that is wise; after such a traumatic experience as hers, plunging headlong into the fray in less than a day is a recipe for potential disaster."

"It is."

"After all, we do not wish to run the risk of losing her again..." Watching the tiefling carefully, Ixenthraxsis noticed his jaw tighten involuntarily at her last comment and allowed herself a thoughtful half-smile. "Your advice was well intentioned and wise: I approve."

"You approve?" Valen quipped, a little surprised at her sudden show of sanctimony whilst folding his arms over his chest, retreating to his safe haven of outright hostility. "I don't care if you approve or not, paladin; that's the way it is."

Raising both her brows at his sudden, almost violent change of demeanour, the half dragon took a step backwards from the tiefling in a show of obeisance, not willing to get into an argument with him. "Of course," she said smoothly. "I did not wish to imply otherwise."

"Good," Valen all but snapped before hefting Devil's Bane in front of himself. "Where is Nathyrra?"

Realising the question was for himself, Ixenthraxsis elected to remain silent.

o0o

It took Nathyrra a good while to return from her scouting, a fact that almost drove Valen to distraction as he felt an unfamiliar sensation of uneasiness and anxiety settle into his stomach as his attention kept inexorably flickering back to the temple and the half elf he had left within its safe walls. Upon seeing the assassin's lithe, graceful form suddenly coalesce from the shadows of the tunnel beyond the city gates with two, stealthy forms at her back, the tiefling felt his heart jolt and strode towards her.

"Nathyrra – report!"

Quirking an eyebrow at the tiefling's abruptness, the drow female began. "A sizeable force, mainly comprising of drow ground troops, a small cadre of Red Sisters and these strange, giant-like skeletal constructions; just as Diz'laeor reported. The are located west of the main cavern, and aren't doing a great deal to hide themselves at the moment; they are either testing us, or their arrogance truly does know no bounds."

"Numbers?"

"Without the constructs: about thirty. With the constructs... about forty five, give or take. As I said, sizeable."

"But nothing to indicate that this is a main strike against Lith My'athar?"

Nathyrra shook her head. "I would say this is a taunt; they're trying to draw us out, test our defences, maybe. With a battalion of our own and a few good spellcasters, we should be able to see them off."

"Or allow them to sneak in through the back door whilst we busy ourselves with idiotic constructs," Jehk'ril suddenly interjected, making the former Red Sister and the Weapon Master snap their heads around to regard him. Raising an eyebrow, the mage watched the pair of them almost haughtily.

"He does have a point," Nathyrra conceded grudgingly. "This could be a diversionary tactic to draw our main forces away and leave the city exposed."

Pursing his lips, Valen sighed heavily. "Agreed. Nathyrra; I see Szinaufein is with you. Take him and Tatholaer – inform the Seer of what you saw and then take them along the banks of the poison river and make sure that no secondary strike force has gathered further along it." As Nathyrra nodded, he turned to Imloth."We shall make our way with caution; if we are able, we shall approach them with stealth and try to flank them either side and use the element surprise to split their forces."

Inclining his head, Valen's Second in Command saluted and then went to brief the troops, whilst Jehk'ril pulled a sheaf of scrolls from a concealed pocket and an earnest looking cleric of Eilistraee made her way through the ranks, casting protective spells that would aid their ability to not only conceal themselves, but also protect their minds and bodies from harm. After this, once they were ready, they then formed themselves into loose lines and, listening intently, awaited the final word from their commander.

Striding along the ranks with an air of determination and menace, Valen informed his troops as to what they were, to the best of his knowledge, about to face, his voice low and steady. He did not shout – he did not have to, given the silence of the drow assembled in front of him – but even so, none of them doubted his authority; too many of them had rebelled against him, or had heard tale of those who had rebelled against him in the past, and as a consequence had suffered his now infamous wrath either vicariously or first hand, and no matter what terrors may lay ahead of them, the very certain terror of having to face the tiefling's near legendary temper and capability for violence if they disobeyed him far outweighed this.

Ironically, it was a mindset they understood from their days under the rule of their tyrannical Matron Mothers... but none of them dared to inform the Weapon Master of this.

Finally, they were ready to move off; following Valen's now-highly enchanted lead, they moved swiftly and silently forwards, not once breaking ranks. Melting into the gloom of the tunnel ahead, the troop became as one with its surroundings; even the tiefling, who was easily the least skilled in stealth of all of them, moved as shadow, the spells that Eilistraee had afforded him making his usually heavy tread whisper light over the dark, sparkling rocks, leaving no evidence of his passage.

Together, they marched in formation for a good while before their Commander slowed, Imloth at his elbow.

"They are somewhere near here, if the reports are to be believed," he murmured, whilst Valen nodded.

"We'll head our way to the ridge; we can use the elevation to our advantage," the Weapon Master muttered back. "Stick to the shadows, and do not attack – not even if a Red Sister comes within a bat's wing of your position - until I command it. We shall try to surround them first, bombard them with spells and then take them and hopefully route them from the area."

"Assanque, Sut'rinos," Imloth replied before leaving the tiefling's side and, after selecting half the troops, peeled off and disappeared silently between a stand of huge stalagmites.

Watching them leave between the spiked rows of rocks, Ixenthraxsis could not help be feel that they were somehow walking into the jaws of some great beast, and found herself having to suppress a shudder.

"Weapon Master... was that wise?" she whispered. "Splitting the troops like that-"

"I didn't bring you along to question my decisions, Paladin." Valen snapped back coldly. "Fighting in the Underdark is nothing like fighting on a wide, open plain; the drow rely upon stealth and gaining the upper hand through this rather than force of arms alone." He then regarded the half dragon's strange, almost washed out appearance, Eilistraee having granted her similar enchantments to his own. "Do not worry; we will be victorious." He then looked to the tunnel ahead gravely. "We have to be..."

o0o

Shifting his weight in an almost bored manner, the black-clad warrior risked all to glance around himself. They had been marching for what seemed like hours, their pace slowed to an almost unbearable level by the awkwardly graceless monstrosities that marched mindlessly alongside them.

Quite why they were marching, he wasn't quite sure; the Valsharess was rarely seen nowadays, her instructions passed on by her Red Sisters, so obsessed she was with the arch demon that she held captive in what she insisted in calling her palace. Rumour had it that she sought something that was now held in the rebel's pitiful city; something powerful that she wished to obtain at any cost... but still she dithered, delaying the order to launch a full attack upon Lith My'athar, to the general perplexity of everyone. No one dared to question her, however, because such impudence meant certain death, and so, here they were, marching towards a city they were not to sack, for a purpose the common soldiers that marched in her name didn't quite understand.

o0o

Regarding her troops laid out in front of her haughtily, Sabal offered the glittering rocks that surrounded them a self satisfied smile. Even she had to admit that they looked magnificent; ordered, well trained, and hungry – nay, starving – for battle. Lumbering at their sides were the first consignment of Bone Golems that the Valsharess had commissioned from her pact with Vix'thra the Bone Lord; immense, mindless and utterly faithful to their cause, it seemed almost a waste to simply use them for a reconnoitre mission, but her Mistress was absolute in her conviction that the Remnant resided in the rebel city of Lith My'athar.

If her Mistress' devil-granted visions were to be trusted, Sabal had been informed that it resided within a filthy rivvil – a half darthiir, no less. Smirking, the Red Sister allowed herself to spend a moment dwelling upon the plaudits and riches the Valsharess would heap upon her head if she, Sabal, brought the Vessel that contained the precious Remnant – the Wrath of Lolth, the last scion of their lost goddess, so cruelly stolen and hidden so she could not rise again – to her; at how she, Sabal, would undoubtedly sit at the right hand of a goddess new-born... not Lolth, but the Valsharess herself, born out of stolen power with the help of the enslaved Mephistopheles.

The only problem was that, for the visions that thrice-damned devil granted them, none of them actually showed the rivvil's face, making it hard to identify them. At first, they had suspected the tiefling - the one the pathetic rebels called their Errdegah-chath, the Demon Fire - but it soon became apparent that this was not the case... although his path intertwined with the Remnant, the actual surfacer who unwittingly bore their long-sought after prize was in fact half elven and female – but apart from that, they had no clue.

Clutching the ornately carven handle of her light flail, Sabal's countenance grew grim; their damned Seer would send her precious Saviour out to face them today, she was sure, and she would be ready, for this was a hunt, not a sacking...

The Valsharess wanted the Remnant alive, after all.

o0o

Finding herself too rushed to lament the fact that she had been left behind, Jen assisted the priestesses of Eilistraee as much as she could in healing the gravely injured drow that had returned from their patrol earlier. In the end, seven massively injured individuals were brought before the Seer, two of which died from their immense wounds regardless of her help; one, a female whose skull had been crushed so badly, it was a miracle she had survived this long, the other, a young male whose legs had been taken from him so viciously that had died from shock and blood loss whilst the Seer examined him. Surprisingly, the victim of the attempted evisceration had survived, though still hideously weak; it was this one that Jen had been left to tend whilst the priestesses attended the others. It seemed that not one of the patrol members had managed to escape unscathed, and it was them that the priestesses now diligently traversed between, casting blessings and handing out potions; feeling her stomach sink like a stone at the realisation that every single one had suffered some degree of injury, she found herself having to contend with the first pangs of deep fear that whatever these drow had faced, her comrades-

_(Valen...)_

-now had to face.

Pressing a cool cloth against the sweating, ebon face of the drow in front of her, Jen studied her clear, pretty features for a moment and felt a rough lump swell in her throat; not so much at the realisation she could very well lose someone whom she had become closer to than she ever thought possible, but more at the overwhelming sense of desperation that she felt at their current situation.

As if sensing her sudden wave of emotion, the female drow's eyes fluttered open for a moment to regard her, pain still etched within their crimson depths. Holding a weak hand up, she groped for the half elf's hand; taking it easily, Jen tried to smile as the female grimaced, showing teeth stained red with blood.

"Xal Eilistraee ialys pholor dos zuch, Jallil d'Ssussun..." she whispered weakly. Although Jen could not understand every word she spoke, upon hearing the mention of the Seer's goddess, the half elf realised this was some kind of blessing or oath; feeling hot tears prickle the backs of her eyes, she then took a deep breath to steady herself before speaking.

"What is your name? Uh, verbol kaas dossta?"

Coughing a little weakly, showering Jen in a fine mist of blood, the drow tried to smile. "Chalinthra."

"You're going to make it, Chalinthra," the half elf whispered, her tone suddenly fierce. "We're all going to make it. I don't know if you can understand me... but we are."

"Siyo. The Seer say. You... Daxunyrr. We fight."

"No... not for me. Fight for yourselves," Jen replied, shaking her head almost angrily. "Fight for what is yours!"

"Siyo," Chalinthra sighed before closing her eyes. "Siyo..."

Panicking slightly, Jen desperately pressed her fingertips against the side of the drow female's throat, searching for a pulse; finding it, as weak as it was, the half elf realised what she needed was to rest, and that their short conversation had drained Chalinthra's last reserves. Sighing, Jen gently released her hand and laid it upon the drow's chest; covering her with a nearby blanket, the half elf then stood up and glanced around herself, seeking out Qilyrr or one of the other priestesses, wondering where she could be utilised next.

"Jenalil... you are here."

Turning her head at the familiar, smooth and oddly accented voice that insinuated its way from behind her, Jen shrugged.

"Yes... where did you think I'd be?"

Smiling, Xen'shai stepped closer. "I would have thought you'd be with the intrepid troops, hunting down the strike force the Valsharess has directed at us."

Shaking her head a little angrily, the half elf tried to hold in a pout. "No. I was instructed to stay here."

"Instructed?" the Deathsinger's silvery eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. "By whom?" He then narrowed his eyes. "Or need I not ask..."

"It's not important," Jen replied quickly upon seeing the calculating look that crossed the bard's face. "Why aren't you with them?"

"I was not needed," Xen'shai replied, sounding a little piqued. "They took my brother, and Szinaufein trotted after Nathyrra as a small dog trots at the heels of his mistress... but for Xen'shai there is no role in these heroics, or so it seems."

Seeing his knowing look slip to one of frustration and disappointment, the half elf couldn't help but smile and lay an companionable hand upon his forearm. "You and me both..." she sighed. "Maybe they think negotiation isn't going to be a particularly useful skill in this situation."

"Implying I cannot fight?" Xen'shai bit back almost petulantly.

"No – of course not!" Jen replied indignantly. "You're a good fighter – I've seen you in action, remember."

At her turn of phrase, the Deathsinger offered her a sly smile. "That is not the only thing I am good at – if you give me a chance to show you 'in action', as it were..." He then shook his head and chuckled to show that he was joking.

Or so Jen hoped.

Quirking a decidedly sardonic eyebrow, the half elf snatched her hand back and folded her arms defensively over her chest. "Not appropriate, Xen'shai, especially given the current circumstances. I am here to help the sick, not trade airy words with you." With that, she turned heel and made to stalk away.

Catching her by her elbow, the Deathsinger inclined his head in apology as she fought the urge to jerk her arm from his grasp. "Jallil... forgive me... I overstep my boundaries with you once again. I forget; what a drow female may see as a high spirited compliment, a surfacer such as yourself sees as an uncouth attempt at flirtation... please, accept my apology. My comment was distasteful; you are correct."

Glancing towards him, Jen sighed a little as Xen'shai all but bowed to her, his brilliant green eyes downcast in obedient deference. "Stop that," she snapped, a little flustered. "Now is not the time to discuss these things. If you want to make yourself useful, then help me; if not..."

Allowing her to snatch her arm from him, the drow bard straightened up, his gaze still fixed firmly upon the floor. "Siyo, Jabbress... command, and, as always, I shall endeavour to obey."

Rolling her eyes, Jen just pushed a hand through hair that was now sticky with the blood of those she had been tending and made her way over to where one of the priestesses was handing out potions, the Deathsinger trailing behind her with a rather self-satisfied look upon his handsome features.

o0o

Clambering as quickly as they dared up the side of the steeply inclined slope that surrounded the plain the Valsharess' troops were supposedly traversing, Valen's squad tried to prepare themselves for whatever lay beyond. Although they were outnumbered – alongside Imloth's cadre, they numbered a scant thirty against their fifty or so reported foes – they felt on the whole curiously buoyed and eager to fight – a contrast to the rather more anxious mood they held during their wait before. It had been a little while since the Valsharess had tested their defences, and as they silently slithered forwards, ready to crest the ridge and peek over the open area beyond, they on the whole felt rather good to be out and defending the city, rather than cooped up within its walls, suffering the daily drudgery of basic patrols and Imloth's incessant drilling.

It was a sentiment, however, that immediately evaporated only to be replaced by an icy, all encompassing sense of fear as they all as one dared to peer over the dark columns of basalt that shielded them from view.

It wasn't the large group of drow that marched in formation below them that caused the blood to freeze in their veins, nor the trio of Red Sisters that followed almost nonchalantly behind them, but rather the skeletal behemoths that loped by their sides. In other circumstances, their shuffling, awkward gait might have been a source of amusement, but here, it simply enhanced the dead sense of witless malevolence that they veritably exuded, only confirming that they had been constructed for one reason and one reason alone: to aid in the destruction of Lith My'athar.

Ducking and sneaking to Valen's side, Ixenthraxsis hissed as she shook her magnificently horned head. "They resemble ettins... but they are not. And the evil aura that they project is nearly something solid... Weapon Master, I mean no disrespect, but to attack these forces with our scant numbers may not be the wisest of moves. I consider myself fearless in the face of even the most unimaginable evil, but even I baulk at the idea of fighting toe to toe with these monstrosities. They... they are against nature, against the natural order of all things good!"

Growling a little under his breath, the tiefling shrugged his armoured shoulders and spent a moment to re-affirm the bars upon his mental prison where his demon stirred restlessly at the promise of battle before answering.

"We cannot let them get anywhere near Lith My'athar, Ixenthraxsis... whether we survive is not the point; that the city does not fall is."

Raising her scaled brows, the half dragon regarded him carefully before speaking. "Spoken as a true paladin, Weapon Master... maybe you should consider a change of roles?"

Grinning grimly, Valen shook his head. "I afford no respect to those who would call themselves god... I have seen too many things to attribute any infallibility to them. There is but one person I will put my faith in, and one person alone: myself."

"Hmm. A lonely existence, to be sure... but your point still stands. At least you are willing to fight by their side than command them from afar. Your orders?"

Frowning, the Weapon Master watched the scene below for a long moment before ducking back and creeping towards Jehk'ril, who was crouching a little way back from the edge, the usual faint air of amusement he contrived about himself now replaced with something far colder and harder.

"Can you contact the other spellslingers?"

Wincing a little at the tiefling's uncouth turn of phrase to describe his highly skilled profession, the drow mage nodded. "Yes. To whom would you like me to speak, and what orders would you like to relay?"

"Tell them to ready their biggest, most devastating spells; something that will cut their numbers down quickly before we have to engage. Tell them to send them off the moment they see us touch the floor of the plain; we'll use the the time they use to recover their wits as an excuse to hit them hard. And tell Imloth that we will meet him down there; we have a few snipers within our ranks, and they can be used to pick off the drow... but they should avoid the constructs. I have a feeling bolts won't be so effective against them."

"All of that, within a twenty five word limit. Are you sure you don't want to add anything?" Jehk'ril asked dryly. "Anything at all?"

Noting the mage's sarcasm, Valen gave him a withering look. "You're the brains of the operation; you sort out the details. That's the message I want sent – I don't care how you achieve it, but make sure you do. Once you've done it, inform me and I'll tell you when to commence casting. Is that clear?"

"As crystal, Sut'rinos..." the drow mage sighed. "As crystal."

Nodding curtly, the Weapon Master then made his way back to the half dragon's side.

"You ready?" he asked, feeling the familiar, beguiling heat he always experienced before an impending battle swell and fill him, causing him to grin.

Drawing an impressive-looking greatsword that bore the hallmarks of a recent custom forging by Rizolvir, Lith My'athar's premier smith, from the scabbard that lay between her battered wings, Ixenthraxsis nodded grimly. "As ready as I shall ever be," she replied. "Although not as keen as you so obviously are."

Regarding her with eyes that now glittered a steely azure, Valen released a little of the choke-hold he had upon his demon; feeling it raise its head and sniff the air, the tiefling turned back to the battlefield and raised his fist; glancing around to make sure all the surrounding drow were observing him, he then let his fist fall before throwing himself forwards, cresting the ridge with a roar.

From all around him suddenly came the ear-splitting cracks of a dozen spells being released, coating the expanse before them in a blanket of light, fire and ice. Immediately, the stench of burnt flesh and hair assailed his nostrils, but rather than cause him to slow, it drove him on, his demon now revelling in the chaos his plans had brought about. Jumping down the last ten feet of the steep incline, Valen landed with a heavy thud, his massive flail leading; roaring, he then picked his first mark – a trio of singed, shocked looking drow males – and charged headlong at them as a blur of crimson and a deep metallic green.

Watching his reckless charge as yet another volley of spell-induced destruction swept across the battle field, evening the odds considerably, Ixenthraxsis shook her head in disbelief as she unfurled her ravaged wings and roared herself. Taking in a deep breath, the half dragon concentrated briefly upon the almost nauseous churning within her second, false stomach before opening her mouth wide; running forwards, she easily discovered a good set of marks still grouped closely together that had not yet entered the melee that was erupting violently all around them. Opening her mouth, she then forced herself to expel the gas that had built up within her; as soon as it reached her mouth, she instinctively flexed her jaws so that she activated the glands located either side of her tongue, causing the gas to partially condense and allowing her to half breathe, half spit a wide stream of violently corrosive acid over her currently disoriented foes.

Two of them had enough of their wits about them to dodge her incoming attack, but the others were not so lucky; screaming as their armour melted and adhered to their coal black skin before the acid ate through to the soft flesh below, they instinctively made to turn and flee from the fiend that had launched such an attack upon them. However, they soon came to their senses when they heard the booming voices of Sabal and her fellow Red Sisters, instructing them to fight or face their wrath. Deciding that the half dragon snarling in front of them was probably a better deal after all, the remaining four drow turned and advanced as one, their now melted casts giving them a gruesome, twisted aspect.

Sneering, Ixenthraxsis brought herself up to her full height and swept her huge sword down with practised ease; quickly realising that if they were hit by her powerful strokes it would soon all be over for them, the assembled drow decided that it was probably a better option to try to tire her a little before closing in; spreading out around her, the drow then attempted to engage her in a deadly dance where she was occupied upon all sides and so could not afford to focus upon one of them for too long at any given moment.

What they had not taken into consideration was the favour the half dragon's goddess afforded her, even within the dank confines of the Underdark, in times such as these.

Feeling the cold, almost clean kiss of well honed steel slash at her and bite deep, Ixenthraxsis roared anew and, much to her attackers surprise, jumped high into the air. Spreading her ragged wings, she beat them in a powerful down sweep, hoping that her atrophied flesh would afford her just a little height and therefore the time to call upon Tamara's favour; feeling her wing muscles strain agonisingly within their sockets as they protested at such abuse after being left dormant for so long, the paladin screamed, beseeching her favoured Lady to grant her the strength to punish the evil besetting her. Feeling her desperate prayer answered almost immediately, the drow below were forced to cover their eyes as the half dragon was engulfed in a brilliant white light; feeling her limbs grow nimble and strong, Ixenthraxsis landed heavily upon the cold ground, hissing and snaking her head forward as she did, before spinning agilely and sweeping her now glowing greatsword in a wide arc, slicing through the drow ranks surrounding her with ease as they desperately fought to regain their damaged eyesight, each one falling to the ground in a pool of their own blood and entrails before they succeeded.


	38. Guardian

_Hello! Sorry for the long absence – some of you already know the reason for it, but just in case you don't, it's because I had a beautiful baby girl back in January (^^D) and it's taken me this long to get adjusted to the idea of being a mother *and* being myself. Obviously, this means my update rate will be a lot slower than it was previously, but hopefully this also means that I am once again back in the saddle... Thanks also to all the peoplr who have added WDR to their favourite stories since I last published - I really do appreciate it!_

_Mch love to you all,_

_Ely xxx _

Chapter 38: Guardian

Snapping her head around as the first fireball hit her troops, Sabal did not feel apprehensive; instead, she allowed a rather cruel smile to curl the corner of her lips as she watched the rebels begin to rip into her ranks. After all, when all was said and done, this is why they were there; the troops were nothing, simply expendable fodder, and they were currently doing their job admirably – drawing the enemy to her, forcing them to expose their position. Peering through the haze of smoke, ignoring the screams of the dying and the sickly stench of burnt flesh, the Red Sister's gaze swept the battle field, trying to discern if any of them matched he description the Valsharess had afforded her regarding the Remnant.

Snorting in annoyance at her inability to distinguish anything in the chaos of the beginnings of a furious melee, Sabal grasped the foul-looking periapt comprised seemingly of a blackened, half rotted hand clutching an onyx moonstone that she wore around her neck and directed her thoughts to the towering quartet of bone golems nearest to her.

Raising their monstrous twinned heads, the golems finally lumbered into the fray upon her mental instructions, belching out clouds of electricity intermixed with a foul, acrid gas and swinging their massive, skeletal fists, not so much with any real finesse, but more with a terrifying brute strength that smashed through any defence mounted against them with an ease that was almost unreal in its magnitude. Finding herself laughing as she watched one of the golems lunge forward, pluck a dark elf from the ground and literally rip it in two, Sabal knew that despite their alarmingly slow production, with these behemoths at their side, there would be no stopping them; their victory was all but in their hands.

Feeling a palpable ripple of panic run through the rebels, Sabal folded her arms in satisfaction as she stood to the back of the battlefield and simply watched as her fellow Red Sisters copied her and instructed their own golems to march forwards as one, heedless to the blows that their foes tried to rain down upon their skeletal forms, driving them inexorably backwards.

o0o

Panting, Valen watched in mounting horror as his troops swarmed around the enemy battalion as the two headed monstrosities ahead of him finally lumbered into life. For a split second, he considered just pulling back and getting his men the hells out of there, but he knew that if he did that, the Valsharess had already won; the Red Sisters would return to her with the tale of their victory, and she would inevitably press her advantage. No, they had to fight... they had to fight, and they had to win. There was simply no other way.

With that thought in mind, the Weapon Master took in a deep breath, re-adjusted his grip upon Devil's Bane and leapt forwards with a roar, ignoring the drow that massed around him, his attention fixed solely upon the golem nearest to him.

Jumping up, he brought his flail down with a broad, sweeping arc, throwing as much of his weight behind it as he could to lend his attack strength. As it connected with a resounding crash, the tiefling gritted his teeth as he felt a the vast majority of his attack vibrate its way back up his arms and root itself into his spine, causing him to shout out in pain and frustration when he found that what would normally have stolen the life from his foe had this time succeeded in no more than chipping the monster in front of him. Ducking as the behemoth swung its huge bony fists round at him, obviously intending to pummel him into the rock, Valen tried again to break past the bone golem's defences, but again was treated to another jarring rebound as Devil's Bane all but bounced off its magically hardened skeleton.

Lapsing into Abyssal in his frustration, the tiefling cursed the golem roundly before glancing around at the fighting around him; many drow had engaged with the golems, but they, if it was at all possible, were having an even harder time than he was in actually damaging them, their slender, sharp weapons just bouncing off the skeletal forms without biting into their bones at all. Suddenly, a sharp crackle of energy exploded to his right, engulfing his foe; feeling the beginnings of a cruel grin tug at the corners of his mouth, Valen waited to see how much damage magical energy would deal before attacking again, but it was all for naught; as the coruscating energy dissipated, the golem continued to press on as if nothing had happened.

Now beginning to feel a little desperate, the Weapon Master steeled himself to the best of his ability and resigned himself to simply relying upon brute strength to bring his enemy down as best he could. Deciding to concentrate upon one of its heads, the tiefling attempted to use the golem's slow, methodical pattern of attack to his advantage; weighing his own attack carefully, he struck out, clipping the monstrosity upon its knee, not so much in the hopes of doing any damage, but rather hoping that it would at least lower its heads so that he could reach them and attempt to stove one of its skulls in.

At first, this tactic seemed sound; as strong and as implacable as the golems were, they were definitely lacking in any form of intelligence, and as the behemoth lunged forward and smashed its huge fists down upon him, Valen jumped back and, gritting his teeth again in preparation for the inevitable backlash, smacked his flail down as hard as he could, shouting out his own agony and exaltation as he watched a hairline fracture open up upon one of the golem's heads. Again, he tried the same tactic, and again, it worked... now grinning almost maniacally, he allowed the demon within its head, allowing him to near enough ignore the numbing, jarring pain he felt each time his weapon connected with the skulls that predictably and almost rhythmically came within arms reach.

Watching the crack in the golem's skull widen after a handful off assaults, a small, dispassionate part of the tiefling noticed that it was filled with an almost soft looking blue smoke, obviously the source of the enchantment that brought the creatures to life; if only they could figure away of clearing that smoke, blowing it out of the bone golem's empty eye sockets... maybe that would render them lifeless – and ultimately useless – one again...

Suddenly, the world exploded and went white.

For some unknown reason – whether it was his own complacency with regards to the predictable fighting patterns of the golem, or simply that it had somehow decided to change tactics of its own accord – the behemoth before him, rather than swinging left with its huge, club-like hands, decided to instead treat him to an over-hand smash, which connected with his shoulder heavily. Jumping backwards with a strangled yelp, Valen felt something in his head pop violently as the impact of his leap jarred his left side with an agony he hadn't felt in years. With an almost stupid look of incomprehension, the Weapon Master stared dumbly for what seemed like an age at his arm, the armour which encased it now crumpled like so much paper, a flash of white bone against the red-black mulch of his mangled muscle teasing him sickeningly in the subdued light.

It was another explosion – one that was external and not inside his body – that shook him to some semblance of coherency, just in time to realise that the golem was preparing for another strike; this time, a killing blow.

Shaking his head, the tiefling staggered sideways in an almost drunken manner as his body tried to cope with the massive trauma it had taken, trying desperately to ignore the searing fire that now coursed unchecked through his body, all the while flailing wildly with Devil's Bane. Sweating heavily, he felt himself stumble as the golem took a heavy step towards him whilst that cold, separate part of his consciousness, untouched by the pain of his crushed and broken side, wondered how in all the Abyss he was going to get himself out of this predicament, and whether this was indeed it; the end; the conclusion of his tale.

Swaying slightly, Valen tripped to his right, avoiding the slow, determined course of the bone golem's fist and once again found his feet. His mangled arm hung uselessly by his side as he spat out a wad of blood; gritting his teeth, he once again raised his weapon as he muttered one solitary, simple word to himself:

"Guardian..."

o0o

Striding forward, riding upon a blessed wave of goddess-given power, Ixenthraxsis snarled threateningly as she cut her way with ease through the ranks of the dark elves that piled in around her. Sometimes, she felt the slight snick of their finely crafted blades against her scaled skin and knew that she would pay dearly for this later; Tamara could grant favours that enabled her to disregard pain at the time of its delivery, but there was always a price to pay later – no matter how much magic, be it divine or arcane, you threw at a problem, basic causality meant that somewhere, at some point, balance had to be maintained and regardless of the outcome, it was a favour you paid for in some way, sooner or later. Still, she deemed the price worth it, and forged onwards, taking down as many of the enemy drow as she could by blade or by breath, an unstoppable juggernaut of sheer draconic fury.

Feeling the ground rumble beneath her feet and hearing a violent crackling and a pitiful scream that rose even above the furious din of the melee, the paladin whipped her head around and felt her jaw drop involuntarily as she watched the Valsharess' troops unleash their secret weapon – the bone golems - upon the unsuspecting rebels.

"Goddess Tamara..." she breathed, half in awe, half in terror as one of the monstrosities picked up a dark elf bodily and almost lazily rip him – or her, she couldn't tell – in twain, raining blood and entrails down upon those below. Feeling a stinging pain in her back, a gift for her momentary lapse in concentration, Ixenthraxsis roared and grasped behind her, the drow rogue that had stealthily crept up behind her and knifed her to expertly between her wings managing to twist out of her way with ease, a huge, sadistic grin gracing her harsh, angular features. Knowing that the blade would inevitably be poisoned, the half dragon hitched a huge breath, swung around and belched forth a huge cloud of corrosive gas that not only caught the drow rogue but also other drow who had cautiously stolen behind her; it was not enough to kill any of them, but it was enough to make then drop back, clawing at their eyes as the acid ate into their faces.

Grimacing, Ixenthraxsis then reached behind her, plucking the long knife from her back and, noting a sticky green substance coating the blade, stowed it conscientiously away within her belt pouch for later inspection should the poison need identifying. She then groped at her belt again, all the while keeping her eye on the fighting around her lest another drow decide to take advantage and downed a potion in one – one, she hoped, would keep any effects of the poison that had so recently been introduced into her system at bay. Then, and only then, did she heft her sword once again and with one, huge down-sweep of her ragged wings, she took to the air like an avenging angel.

Now above the melee, the half dragon began to take in the battlefield from a decidedly more tactical viewpoint. Although the fighting seemed chaotic and mindless upon the ground, from the air she could see that there was still a semblance of order to what was going on, and that from the sheer numbers alone, the rebels were hideously outnumbered by the Valsharess' troops; they would have had the advantage regardless as to whether they had brought the golems with them or not. As it was, the golems were definitely doing the most damage, and in one short moment of crystal clarity, the draconic paladin knew that if the bone golems reached Lith My'athar in number, all was lost.

Almost hypnotised for a moment by the emotionless, mechanical way in which the skeletal monstrosities dealt out their carnage, Ixenthraxsis all of a sudden felt incredibly sick.

_This is not the way for war to be waged... _she thought desperately to herself. _Whilst war in itself is an inevitable and sometimes necessary evil, at least the people fighting for their cause – no matter how misguided – show some level of emotion, be it hatred, fear or exaltation... but these, these monsters, these *machines*, incapable of any emotion, let alone mercy – they wage war because that is all they are built to do. A sword must be wielded, a bow strung and let fly, but these golems, these parodies of life, they can be instructed to torture, maim and kill without any emotional investment from their masters whatsoever. Forget the demons of the Abyss, or the devils of the Nine Hells, these constructs, with their blank, eyeless stares and their soulless, unstoppable ability to wreak carnage... they are the true horrors, the things that will haunt my nightmares henceforth. May everything that stands for good strike this Valsharess down, for if she succeeds, surely the whole of Faerun is in danger._

o0o

Standing upon the ridge above the battlefield, Jehk'ril watched the chaos unfurl beneath him like a deadly, violent flower. Never one to invest himself emotionally in such activities, he watched dispassionately as his supposed comrades-in-arms struck the enemy lines hard and true, and continued to watch as they took heavy casualties when the bone golems entered the fray. At their introduction, the drow wizard raised one snowy eyebrow before narrowing his eyes in interest, one long ebon finger gently caressing his lips, not in disgust, but rather with interest. He knew from personal experience that the creation of such creatures took a vast amount of power, knowledge and ability – simply enchanting a small lump of clay into something that would do his bidding was, whilst not beyond him, something he knew would take a long time and many powerful charms. To construct an _army_ of such creatures... and creatures of such power and magnitude – well, that was something to be applauded; whoever had created these skeletal monsters was an enchanter of great power, and someone Jehk'ril would rather not cross if he had the choice.

Surveying the battle, the wizard didn't waste his spells; all around him, his arcane brothers and sisters discharged their most powerful evocations, raining down massively empowered fireballs and storms of acidic vitriol upon their enemies; offering them an irritated sigh, Jehk'ril rolled his eyes in annoyance at their blatant wasting of their energy and at the inevitability of their subsequent panic when the bone golems, largely untouched by their spells, eventually climbed the steep valley sides and inexorably made their way towards them, their only desire to crush them under their gigantic skeletal hands.

No, Jehk'ril knew how golems worked... no matter how huge, or how dangerous, they were still only mindless constructs, nothing more, and that meant they needed someone to tell them what to do. Sometimes they could be programmed – to defend a door, to do basic chores, to attack when provoked – but this kind of coordinated attack meant that someone was controlling them directly.

Hopefully, that person was here, as opposed to observing them through magical means.

Concentrating hard, the drow wizard tried to shut out the screams and shouts from below and allowed his gaze to methodically travel the length and breadth of the valley. At first, much to his initial frustration, he saw nothing, but just as he was about to chastise himself with regards to underestimating the Valsharess' tactical abilities, a flash of red caught his eye; concentrating on it, he then allowed himself a very cruel, very self indulgent smile.

_Well well well... your arrogance knows no bounds, Valsharess, _he thought to himself as he watched a trio of Red Sisters at the back of the melee with interest. They had not taken it upon themselves to become invested in the fight themselves, and were seemingly just observing.

_Or instructing... _

At that thought, Jehk'ril allowed himself a viciously sadistic chuckle.

Standing tall, the wizard quickly marched his way to the next of his kin, a smaller, pinch-faced female. Grabbing the back of her neck with one strong hand, he forced her head in the direction of the three Red Sisters.

"See them?" he whispered before she could complain.

Nodding dumbly, the female mage tried to squirm from his grasp.

"Stop it," he breathed, and the female stiffened. At this, he couldn't help but treat himself to another satisfied smile. "If I am right – and I suspect I am – if we kill those three, the battle will turn to our favour."

The female wizard glanced incredulously towards her superior who still had her by the scruff of her neck. "You think they are controlling the golems?"

"Clever girl," Jehk'ril remarked snidely. "Have what is left of your strongest spells at the ready – if we hit them with enough power at the same time, hopefully we'll be able to overcome them." He then dropped his hand from her neck slowly, trailing his fingers along her spine, delighting in the small, involuntary shiver that travelled down her back. "It's a shame we don't have any melee troops at our disposal – we could have sent them along the ridge, allowing them to get nearer to our quarry, but our dear, illustrious Commander thought it better to just charge." He sniffed disdainfully. "We must synchronise our attacks – tell everyone of our new plan and then await my signal."

Nodding to show her understanding, the drow female scurried away, along the line of mages, informing each one as she went of Jehk'ril's plan. Once she returned a scant few minutes later, she nodded, looking a trifle pale under her concealing hood, indicating that all their fellow magic-users knew of the plan and understood their part in it.

The cruel smile once again flourished upon Jehk'ril's sharp face as he muttered the symbols of a Disintegration spell under his breath and raised his arm in signal. Watching carefully as all the other mages did the same, and marvelling privately at the cacophony of colours manifesting in their dark palms, the drow wizard threw his arm out wide, sending his spell on its unerring course towards the trio of Red Sisters, sublimating the urge to cackle as all of his comrades did the same.


	39. Conflict

_I've made a couple of changes to the story over the last few days, starting a complete re-write of the ending of chapter 35 (I read it back recently after now having read it for a while and cringed a bit, it was so silly – I've changed it so that it is a little more in keeping with the story as a whole). _

_Allowing Nathyrra to kick a bit of butt here – well, she is supposed to be an expert assassin, after all..._

Conflict

Creeping forward, Nathyrra naturally fell to a crouch, minimising her already lithe shadow as she inched forwards towards the area she had been instructed by the Seer to investigate. She had left the vast majority of her scouting party – including two seasoned spellcasters – near where the Valsharess' troops were slowly yet steadily advancing after asking for a volunteer to accompany her upon another, much more covert mission; unsurprisingly, the first drow to step forward with an eager nod and a look of grim determination upon his young face had been Szinaufein. At first she had considered refusing his offer of help, but then straight away had questioned her motives for doing so: hadn't he proven himself a competent - and above all, trustworthy - ally over the last few weeks? If anyone would watch her back, it was the young ranger... and so why was she so reluctant to allow him to accompany her?

Unwilling to examine such motivations at that point, the assassin forced herself to concentrate upon the task in hand. She had wondered if she should have taken more than one companion with her, but the main focus of this operation was to scout and not to engage unless absolutely necessary, and in these cases, Nathyrra knew that there was a much less chance of being spotted if there were only two compared to a larger group.

Slowing to a standstill, she took in a deep lungful of air. It was tinged with the acidic tang of the Poison River, indicating that they were upon the right track. Nodding to Szinaufein, they then began searching the area carefully; it came as no surprise to find the faintest trace of booted footprints in the fine layer of mulch that substituted for soil in the Underdark.

_How long?_ she signalled to her companion, gesturing towards the partial footprint.

Szinaufein hunkered down for a short moment, studying the almost invisible print carefully. _Not long_, he signalled back. _The Seer was right; they are using the attack to their advantage._

Nathyrra smiled grimly. _Of course they are. Did you expect them not to?_

The ranger simply shrugged. _What now?_

Raising her head and narrowing her eyes towards the direction of Lith My'athar, the former Red Sister scowled slightly. _We follow. And, if we can, we stop them._

Szinaufein's crimson eyes widened for the briefest of moments. _Just the two of us?_

_If need be, yes. We cannot allow them to get near Lith My'athar._

Stroking his pointed chin with one slender ebon digit, the ranger hunkered down once more and studied the ground carefully, his head darting back and forth, making him resemble a strange bird of some sort, seeking out its prey. After a short while, he straightened up and regarded Nathyrra again, a grim look upon his fair face. _By my calculations, there could be anything between three and five __of them. I'm sorry I cannot be more precise._

_That's okay. _Nathyrra signalled back, touching the ranger's arm to show her sincerity. _They don't __need many – this will be a reconnaissance mission; they aren't attacking, just scoping us out._

Szinaufein frowned. _Reconnaissance? Surely they do not need to do that – what about the Valsharess' diviners?_

Nathyrra shook her head. _The Seer has protected Lith My'athar from any form of scrying for now – just as the Valsharess has blocked all of our intrusions. Therefore, if they want to see what we're up to, they need to see it directly. You should know – we've been intercepting them for months now. _

_And you think they're using the attack as a cover?_

_That is the suspicion, yes. _

The younger drow paused before answering, his attention fixed for a second upon the direction of the beleaguered dark elven city he now called home. "Then we should hurry – we need to stop them, or at least warn The Seer before they manage to take any information back to the Valsharess," he whispered, more to himself than to Nathyrra.

Offering Szinaufein an odd look, the assassin simply nodded before moving off gracefully once again. She did not look back, and so did not catch an odd look of conflict that flickered briefly across Szinaufein's face before he followed her.

o0o

_Carefully, he creeps forwards into the gloom. None of them must catch him; none of them must see. Once, the shadows would have been his friend, but now, who knew? Once one of highest favour, reduced to nothing, reduced to take orders from a jumped up little..._

_No. Must remain calm. Cannot allow anything to cloud his judgement. He knows that He is testing him; he knows that He alone knows His truth. The other one – he is the mistaken one, the one being manipulated. He cannot – will not! - believe otherwise. It cannot be true – never have the two kinds ever worked together; are they not sworn enemies? It is ridiculous to even consider it! Had he known, he would not have joined, would not have agreed. Madness... it was all utter madness! _

_And then, to make it even worse, to heap insult upon insult upon insult, there was her – she who had nothing to do with any of this, she who had neither the sense nor the stomach to command them. By the Shadow, it made his head spin at their stupidity, at their total lack of any form of courage. _

_A surfacer! And not just any surfacer, but a **female**! It went beyond insult, beyond all sense. And yet he said that this was His will! Idiot! Dolt! How dare he say he knows His will... well, they would see His will in its full glory, given time. Now was the time to leave their vapid idiocy to themselves – he knew what to do._

_Who to find. _

_Who to convince._

_She did not follow the Spider Bitch. The Bitch was gone – how, no one knew... but that wasn't important. A power vacuum had been the result, and she had arisen, taken advantage of the situation. Oh, how he regretted not having the foresight to join her then... he could have shown her the way. He would have welcomed her into his shadowy embrace. _

_Instead, he had listened to his so-called brothers, his comrades in arms, those stupid fools who, he now realised, knew nothing. How much further would they debase themselves? Taking orders from that insipid, weak wretch, who in turn took hers from that accursed harpy they called a Goddess... by the Shadow, it made him sick. To be reduced to this, to be forced into such servitude, to be once again under the yoke of a cretinous female, after all he had done to get away, to escape..._

_What? Shadows in the dark up ahead. Must hide... hide from them, no matter who they are. No one can see. No one must know. No one must realise. Until it is too late, of course. _

_He knows this is right. Another female, maybe, but at least one of his type. One who understands power. _

_One he knows He would welcome into His flock, if only he can convince her..._

o0o

Keeping a respectful distance from Nathyrra, Szinaufein allowed his thoughts to wander as much as his situation would allow. How long had he now been with the Seer's troops at Lith My'athar? Six months? Nearly a year? It was hard to tell, time flew by so quickly. He had spent quite a long time living a feral existence after the defeat of Cheth Rrhinn – how long that had been, he simply had no idea. He still considered himself lucky; those who had not willingly become slaves to the Valsharess' cause had been put to death in quite imaginative and gruesome ways for their perceived insolence. His House, much to his shame and fury, had caved in to her might almost immediately. Thankfully, he had been at the city's Melee Magthere and so had been lucky enough to have the luxury of a choice – he had chosen exile over servitude or death, along with a small handful of young males around his age.

Most of them, unfortunately, had died within a few days of the Valsharess' victory. Szinaufein would undoubtedly have shared their fate through his inexperience, but had been fortunate to meet a tall, scarred drow he vaguely recognised as having connections to his House. They had never spoken, but he recognised the older drow nevertheless; his scars made him instantly recognisable to all who met him. Rizonym hadn't been able to speak in those days, but his stoic presence had kept the small gaggle of drow youths together and in some form of vague order, and Szinaufein still felt some measure of gratitude towards the older dark elf.

He had joined the Seer's troops initially out of desperation, that much was true... nothing so altruistic as wishing to help their cause, just simple survival, a classic case of the enemy of my enemy must be my friend. He soon found out there truly was a mixture of characters seeking shelter in Lith My'athar, and the political structure was as fragile there as within any drow city, the only thing uniting them being the simple fact that they had all opposed the Valsharess, refusing her rule.

Those early, heady days had been ones of confusion and excitement for the young ranger, and he was not too proud to admit that he had managed to get himself into his own fair share of trouble. It was during one of these bouts of trouble – goading some of the original guards of House Maeviir into attacking a group of Eilistraee's followers in a tavern, he seemed to remember – that he had met Xen'shai, and had consequently been introduced to the smallest and most secretive sector of those defending the city against the Valsharess... the males who banded together under the protection of Vhaeraun.

Watching Nathyrra expertly scale the side of an outcrop of rock, Szinaufein felt a sudden swell of relief that he had never actually devoted his life to the Shadow Himself; even thinking His name made the young drow nervous, and although he felt comfortable in the company of the other drow that were devout, he himself just did not feel ready to commit his life to His service. Xen'shai had proved useful to know, however, despite (or maybe because of?) his connections with Vhaeraun's clergy – through the Deathsinger, Szinaufein had managed to worm his way into the best vzahaz, where his youthful exuberance and ready smile had endeared him to many of those closer to the Seer... truly, they were naïve to be taken in by such an act, and he had used this to his advantage more than once, knowing that Xen'shai and those he reported to (if he did indeed report to anyone - despite his larger than life persona, the Deathsinger was largely an enigma to all that met him: Szinaufein himself and heard at least five different stories with regards to how he had joined the Seer, each one as believable and plausible as the last) would reward him in ways Eilistraee's followers would indeed frown upon had they known such practices went on unknown under their very noses.

But now... was all of that beginning to change? He had been charged by Xen'shai to keep the former Red Sister– or Red Bitch, as the Deathsinger so often called her – ahead of him out of the other drow male's hair by all and any means possible. Why Xen'shai wished this, Szinaufein did not know... and, at first, he did not care. He had only seen Nathyrra from afar before joining her upon this near insane quest, and whilst she was undoubtedly beautiful, to him she was no different from the other haughty, self absorbed and beautiful females he had encountered before, and he was more than ready to treat her to his own peculiar brand of insubordination.

Accepting the hand that reached down to help him scale the final part of the rocky outcrop made slippery and treacherous by the spray that the swiftly flowing poison river threw up – one unclad hand in one of the many pools of corrosive water dotted around the outcrop could mean losing said appendage if you were not careful – Szinaufein heaved himself upwards and smiled with gratitude to the female he was supposed to 'keep busy', his heart heavy and, not for the first time, confused. When she smiled back at him, her wordless signals asking him if he was all right, his resolve almost broke; how could he lie to her – how could he _hurt_ her? - as unsuspecting as she was? Signalling back that he was fine, however, he kept his mouth shut and, when she turned away from him and began creeping forwards once again, he gritted his teeth and shook his head against the swirl of conflict he felt over this mission... and this female in particular.

o0o

Smiling cruelly, Spirrak Teken'mtor signalled for his small troop to remain hidden and silent. In all his years as one of the Valsharess' most dedicated male commanders – second only to her Red Sisters in importance – he felt honoured to have been the one chosen for this attempt at infiltration. He had been reassured that Sabal's more overt frontal attack to test out the validity of using the Bone Golems as part of their main assault would draw out most of the rebel drows' elite fighters, leaving Lith My'athar as vulnerable as possible. Yet his role wasn't to attack to city, but simply to observe it; the despicable priestess of Eilistraee that held the rebel city together was, he grudgingly admitted, powerful... powerful enough to keep his Mistress' scrying attempts at bay, meaning that she actually had little idea of what went on in that accursed place.

Due to this, he had only selected the best to accompany him – a hand-picked group consisting of a rogue, a mage and a ranger, with himself as an accomplished assassin – and between them, he was determined to penetrate further into the rebel camp than anyone had ever managed before. In their arrogance, the seditious inhabitants of Lith My'athar relied heavily upon the location of the poisonous river to protect its eastern edge, and largely, their arrogance was justified; the river was beyond treacherous, its corrosive waters capable of eating a boat out from underneath them in mere minutes. What made it even more dangerous (and terrifying) was that if you didn't immediately succumb to the water as is dissolved your flesh from your bones, it was almost inevitable that you would be taken by the strange, amorphous inhabitants of the river. Quite what they were, no one knew... and, Spirrak mused, no one particularly wished to know. They had also discovered, to the fury of the Valsharess, that some kind of anti-magic field had been placed upon the river as it neared the city, meaning any attempts of magical flight or the like were met with the volunteers plummeting to a grisly, painful death. These failures did not make them lose hope and give up, though – if anything, it only strengthened their resolve to find a way to break through this natural defence, with the Valsharess convinced that if the city was to be taken, the river was the key.

It was down to this determination that he and his small group of allies now took a rather more circuitous route to Lith My'athar: a route that no army could take, but a handful of skilled individuals might take advantage of. If they could only get a foothold in the city – even if it was just a glimpse of what they were up to, their numbers, their fortifications – they would have a clearer image of what they were up against, and therefore could mobilise their troops against Lith My'athar with confidence.

Since Spirrak wholeheartedly believed that the Valsharess' destiny was to be the conqueror of the Underdark, the Mistress of All (and since becoming one of her favoured consorts, secretly hoped that he would benefit in some small way from her machinations), he did wonder why his Mistress was so circumspect... surely, there was nothing a tiny rag tag group of rebels could harbour within the walls of what was once nothing more than a small market town that could stop her inevitable rise to power and glory? Still, she hesitated, caution momentarily marring her beautiful, haughty expression when he had tactfully expressed this very opinion; at first, he had cowered before her, expecting punishment, but instead, she had smiled, placed a soft hand upon his cheek and charged him with trying to penetrate the Seer's defences along the river's edge.

He never once considered that this might actually have been his punishment.

o0o

Dropping back so that she was now side by side with her companion, Nathyrra frowned slightly and gestured ahead of her, looking a little apprehensive. Feeling his pulse quicken, Szinaufein nodded; whoever they hunted was just up ahead, that much was true. Even he could see the twinkling of the small yet effective warning lights, indicating that someone had passed by recently. They were a particularly ingenious invention of the Seer; small, magical traps that could only be set and – usually - seen by the followers of Eilistraee, serving no other purpose than to warn others of enemies that had passed through certain areas. Since approximately half of Lith My'athar's army did not follow Eilistraee, the Seer had tweaked them so that only allies could see them (it had also proved a useful and clever way of testing anyone's intention if their allegiance was brought into question – if they were not loyal, they could not see Eilistraee's Stars. Interestingly, Xen'shai had so far passed each and every trap she had laid for him), and so if they saw a twinkling, winking array of tiny stars burst upwards and create constellations above them, they knew someone of ill intent was near.

Moving with something akin to a crawl, the two drow edged their way carefully over the outcrop. Just ahead of them, the rocks rose again, and at their base, they could both see barely visible figures moving, their progress nothing more than a shift in the shadows to the untrained eye.

Luckily, both the assassin and the ranger were highly trained in such things.

Drawing her rapier from its scabbard and feeling slightly horrified that they had managed to get so close to Lith My'athar, Nathyrra slipped her hand into her belt pouch and brought forth a small vial of silvery liquid. Putting it to her lips, she swallowed it in one gulp and immediately disappeared from view. Taking her lead, Szinaufein then did the same. Just before he disappeared, he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder and soft lips caress the edge of one of his pointed ears as she leaned in to whisper to him.

"I'll take the mage," she breathed. "You take your pick of the other three once he is down. Make sure you strike true; even if a patrol has already picked up the Stars and is on its way to deal with this, we cannot allow them to draw any closer to the city. Hopefully, once the mage is out of the question, they will have a difficult time dispelling our enchantments." She hesitated briefly before squeezing the young ranger's shoulder. "Good luck."

And with that, she was gone.

o0o

Stiffening for a moment, Spirrak cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Was that a whisper of a footstep he heard? Scanning his surroundings, his comrades also stopped and mimicked their leader, each one of them concentrating as they tried to pick up any hints as to what he might have heard. Shaking his head, he indicated that there was nothing... but nevertheless, his senses were now heightened, almost as if he expected an attack. He did entertain the notion that maybe his mind was playing tricks on him – after all, they had never managed to get this close to Lith My'athar before, and so he was bound to be a little nervous – but his well-honed senses told him something was amiss.

Bringing his heavily enchanted longsword to bear, the drow assassin continued to creep forwards along the bottom of the natural gully, avoiding the pools of stagnant pools of water that had gathered there. Ahead of him, the ground flattened slightly, indicating that the little knowledge they had of the Seer's fortifications was true; once you had braved the perilous path by the poison river's edge, there was a gully – this gully – that lead to a much more hospitable path that eventually connected to a network of fields where they grazed their rothe. Spirrak had no doubt that they would meet resistance at some point, but he had faith in his small group's abilities: after all, had they not conquered a path that had left so many of his predecessors dead or irretrievably maimed?

Ducking behind a large chunk of broken basalt, he signalled for the rest of his troop to follow him in kind. Surveying the levelling off land, he searched for any kind of patrol, but found none. Sneering cruelly to himself, he once again could not believe the stupidity and arrogance of his enemy; turning to the other three to gloat, his triumph turned to horror as, right before his very eyes, his mage's throat was opened by an invisible force, spraying thick, glutinous heartsblood over him and his remaining comrades. His eyes widened in shock, the wizard scrabbled at the gruesome tear before sinking to the ground, his eyes already glazing over as he lost consciousness, a bloody froth bubbling from between his lips indicating that not only was the blade that opened his neck sharp, but also poisoned.

Whirling around, his longsword leading, Spirrak's head darted this way and that, desperately trying to seek out whoever had attacked them, but to no avail; whoever it was had retreated again to the shadows. It was then that another one of his comrades (who had also been trying to find out who – or what – had attacked them) let out a short shout, truncated by a gurgle as a dagger appeared almost magically in the soft part of her neck, just below her left ear, its blade buried to the hilt in her flesh. Swaying forward, the drow fingered the dagger's hilt as if to pluck it from her neck, an almost comical look of confusion upon her face before she pitched forwards, her crimson eyes rolling up in their sockets. It was obvious by the heavy way her body slumped upon impact with the ground that she was also dead.

Feeling a slight bubble of panic rise within his breast, Spirrak roughly grabbed his last remaining minion and pulled him towards him, placing him directly at his back. They then began to circle, their weapons held forth, with Spirrak's free hand dipping into a small velvet pouch at his belt. Drawing out a handful of a strange, purple-hued dust, the assassin began flinging it ahead of him randomly, hoping to coat their invisible attackers and reveal their positions. That they had disposed of the mage first meant that they were experienced in tactics; they had quickly and efficiently removed the one aspect that could have dispelled any and all invisibility enchantments they had currently upon their persons.

Snarling to himself, the assassin swore viciously as his tactic seemed to fail; however this soon turned to triumph as his dust settled upon what could only be a boot. His snarl transforming into a smirk, Spirrak lunged forwards, his sword leading, hoping to slash his invisible assailant with his poisoned blade, only realising far too late that this was actually a rather clever diversionary tactic; he was meant to see something. Upon hearing another shout cut short to a gruesome gurgle towards his back, he risked a glance behind him to see the last of his elite troops sinking to the ground, his throat slit from ear to ear so that it resembled the macabre parody of a grin. Spinning around, the assassin groped within his belt pouch for an invisibility potion of his own, realising all too late that he had paid dearly for his arrogance in not taking it earlier. It was then that he felt the one thing he had been almost been expecting since the beginning of this one-sided engagements; the cold kiss of steel against the soft, unguarded flesh of his own dark throat. His eyes widening for a mere fraction of a second, Spirrak knew there was nothing for him to do other than stand still and try to maintain an air of nonchalant confidence; he had been in such situations before, that much he knew... he would prevail. He always prevailed. The others were obviously weak.

To his left (and not behind him, as he had suspected) came a sudden, throaty chuckle, thick with malice.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here? Spirrak Teken'mtor, an actual assassin at last. Is the Valsharess so desperate that she relies upon you of all people?"

Upon hearing that voice, long suppressed memories bubbled to the surface of Spirrak's mind, momentarily clouding his judgement as he attempted to lunge towards the source of those terrible, mocking words. It was then that he felt the dagger bite just ever so slightly into his neck and knew that this despised relic from his past would kill him in a heartbeat, given half the chance.

"So you did survive, Nathyrra," he spat back, forcing himself to stand still once again.

"Oh, the Valsharess knew I survived Spirrak... what, she didn't share this titbit of information with you? And I thought you considered yourself so important..."

Snarling under his breath, the assassin clenched his jaw and swallowed down a bile-filled retort, choosing instead to remain silent, his resolve almost breaking when he heard yet another mocking chuckle emanate from his left.

"That's right – remain silent. Give nothing away. I remember the drill well." He felt his loathsome captor take a step closer to him, cursing himself – and her – for not being able to sense her before; how she did it, he had never been able to fathom. It had been that ability that had ultimately seduced the Valsharess into allowing her into the hallowed ranks of the Red Sisters, of that much he was sure.

"Don't worry; I'm not going to kill you." Nathyrra paused, and Spirrak thought he could feel her relishing her advantage over him. "Yet."

"Do your worst, bitch," the captured drow hissed furiously through gritted teeth. "No matter what you do, you're all doomed. The Valsharess has seen to that."

"The Valsharess is the one who is doomed," Nathyrra whispered back viciously, tightening the dagger against his throat, its fine blade finally biting down, drawing a bead of blood that trickled slowly and stickily down his chest. "She has no idea what she is up against." He then heard an element of amusement touch the female's voice. "And neither do you..."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Spirrak felt something hard connect brutally with the back of his head; at first, the world flashed a blinding white before it faded to the deepest black as he sank into the welcome arms of unconsciousness.


End file.
